







Class P Z -3> 

Book W 

Copyright N° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





THE WAY OF 
THE GODS 


BX 

AQUILA KEMPSTER 

W 

w 


1901 

QUAIL & WARNER 

NEW YORK 


THE LIBRARY Of 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 



)UN. 17 1901 


Copyright entry 



> i, 


LASS O/xXc. N». 
COPY B. 


COPYRIGHT, I9OO, 

BY WARNER AND BROWNELL. 




To My “ Lady Babbie,” 

Chief Aider and Abettor of Both My 
Work and Play, 

I Dedicate This Volume. 



INTRODUCTORY. 


In writing the following stories I have been 
reminded of nothing so much as those 
deliciously lazy moments when waking from 
a dreamful sleep. The memory of the won- 
derful experiences in which one has revelled 
are fading fast — are almost gone, though 
they still appeal to the sensuous imagination 
— and we eagerly hark back to gather here a 
fancy that still has power to charm, and there 
to shrink from the bogie that even yet, with 
the sun streaming through the curtains, has 
not been stripped entirely of his dream ter- 
rors. I know of nothing so luxurious as 
those few minutes; nothing so alluring, even 
as I know nothing so bracing and dream- 
dispelling as the sudden sharp chill of the 
bath five minutes later, after which the world 
of dreams becomes a most far away and 
trivial thing. 

So I have harked back through a dreamy 
haze to the years of my student life in India; 


INTRODUCTORY. 

a life that I was forced to leave before the 
glamour was gone, before the bazaars had 
lost their possibilities, and the Mogul and 
Hindoo alike their charm. 

I have gone back to a time when, with a 
boy’s imagination, I dwelt in the realms of 
fantasy. Out of that by-gone dream world I 
have taken my friends and foes, and the lit- 
tle incidents that then seemed common- 
place. I have merely held the threads; be- 
yond that the tales have spun themselves. 

I take pleasure in acknowledging the kind- 
ness of the editor of The New York Press in 
granting permission for the republication of 
some of the following stories which appeared 
first in his paper. 


CONTENTS. 


The Way of the Gods. 

I. Ager Mirza II 

II. The Black Puma 31 

III. The House in the Lai Bazaar.. . 53 

IV. Out of His Class 73 

V. The Jadoo Maker 94 

The Savior of the Guns 115 

Dalmut Khab, the Fakir 133 

The Case of Mr. Greenie 149 

A Tiger Episode 169 

Almost a Tragedy 179 

The Sign of Tari Pennu 195 

The Jadoo of Dr. Barramphut 225 

The Love of Woman 241 







THE WAY OF THE GODS 



THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


CHAPTER I. 

Ager Mirza. 

There are some dozen things in my study 
— hanging on the walls, stuck on top of the 
bookcase, and littered about generally — that 
serve to remind one in thoughtful moments 
of the perplexing methods the gods use in 
fooling men. 

With much patient care they weave a rope 
for a victim’s neck, then at the last moment — 
cut it; they drive a man with harrowing blows 
to the dizzy edge of some sheer precipice, 
down which they have already hung a ladder 
for his safe descent. Of course sometimes 
the ladder isn’t there, the gods forget to cut 
the rope, and then it’s awkward for the vic- 
tim. But generally as you look back from 
effect to cause, the amount of force used 
seems out of all proportion to the result 
ii 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


achieved, so that we come to wonder who is 
laughing best, the gods or we. 

The thing in my den that oftenest attracts 
my attention is about as ugly-looking a knife 
as ever was tempered for nasty purposes. I 
make a practice, while I am smoking, of try- 
ing to stare the ruffianly thing out of coun- 
tenance. I haven’t quite succeeded yet, 
though I’m gradually getting over that little 
contraction of the throat that the sight of it 
causes. However, here’s the way of it: 

I was coming from the officers’ mess dance 
at Colaba, and, as the night was fine, I left the 
stuffy buggy that had brought me in at Craw- 
ford Market, determining to get a sherbet 
and then walk up to Byculla Hospital, where 
I was booked as a student. I was only a few 
months out from home, and that walk through 
the Boree bazaar at night was still a thing of 
joy to me, though my faith in its A1 Raschid 
possibilities was beginning to falter. 

After my sherbet I lighted another Trinch- 
inopoly, and with my cane under my arm 
started off up the narrow street. The shops 
were all closed, though here and there the 
sweet-stuff venders still kept vigil, each doz- 
ing under his little awning. I started up the 
12 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

sidewalk, but the monotony of stepping over 
unending rows of sleepers, to say nothing of 
the possibility of accidentally treading on 
some gentleman with a short temper, drove 
me into the street; and here I walked till at 
last I came to the lane just past the great 
hospital gates that led to the student’s bunga- 
low, politely christened by the natives “Chota 
bhud khanna,’’ which, “being done into Eng- 
lish,” reads “The Little Devil’s Home.” 

Now the lane that leads to this tastefully 
named abode is long and dark and held in 
evil repute by the lower caste bazaar men; 
but, as it is a short cut to Malabar Hill, the 
more enlightened use it occasionally. I was 
just turning up the lane with a half regretful 
sigh that “nothing had happened again,” when 
I suddenly stood stock still listening intently. 

What was it? Bandakoots fighting? — the 
lane was full of the beasts. Yes — no — by 
Jove! that was no bandakoot, but some pretty 
tall native cursing, then the ring of steel, and 
I realized with a profane exclamation of de- 
light that at last something had happened. 

There were four of ’em at it, cutting and 
slashing like a lot of Afghans, and just as I 
got up one fellow went down with the rest 
13 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


on top of him. Of course I chose sides by 
hitting the first head that came in reach of 
my stick. Now, why that particular head 
should have belonged to a Mussulman, and 
an Afghan at that, when all the rest were Hin- 
doos, is part of my puzzle. You see, you can 
kick a Hindoo with impunity and much sat- 
isfaction, but an Afghan in an entirely differ- 
ent problem, as I learned by experience later. 

The man’s puggaree took the brunt of the 
blow, but did not save him from an ugly gash 
across the forehead, just over the left eye. 
He rolled over with a cry of fright or warn- 
ing, and the next instant three of them were 
up and facing me, while the fourth lay still 
between us. I knew enough not to wait for 
them to get their w r its and rush me, and, 
trusting to my w’hite uniform to finish their 
scare, I jumped straight at them, swinging 
my stick as I went. They didn’t stop to feel 
its weight, though my Afghan did make a dig 
at me before he turned tail; but as the blood 
w r as streaming in his eyes he missed me by a 
quarter of a yard. 

The man on the ground was in an ugly 
mess, as I saw at the first glance, so I climbed 
the hospital railing, and, taking a short cut 

14 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


through the botanical garden, came out on 
the driveway, and in three minutes had the 
hamals out on the double with a dooley 
swinging between them. 

The moonlight was touching the lower 
part of the body in the lane; but the face lay 
back among the shadows, so that neither the 
bearers nor I saw it as we lifted the man in 
the dooley, and thus it happened that a Rajan 
prince lay that night between life and death 
in the pauper casual ward, in an atmosphere 
that fairly reeked with the foul breathing of a 
score of outcasts, bhang and arrack fiends 
and the like; but it troubled him little, for his 
soul was come to a straitened way — to the 
very gates of death. 

In the morning Dapin Bole, my ward boy, 
whispered to me that he had recognized the 
man as he lay in the office when they first 
brought him in, and that he could have given 
his name to the attendant apothecary, but 
that he was a man of peace and it was none 
of his business. 

“Well,” I asked, “and who was he anyway?” 

“Arre, sahib, whisper,” he muttered; “I 
take no sides. I am a man of peace, you 
understand, and some say this and some say 
15 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


that and much blood is shed, and Krishna 
knows who is right, but the man is Ager 
Mirza.” 

Ager Mirza! What a name to conjure 
with! Where was A1 Raschid now? Ager 
Mirza who could raise a riot in just about 
seven seconds and quell it in less. Ager 
Mirza the Magnificent, with his wonderful 
horses, with his palace on Malabar Hill, who 
rode in native state to the government dur- 
bar, a blaze of wonderful jewels, or lounged 
in the fort like an English gentleman, whom 
every thieving fakir swore by and every 
boree strove to stand well with. The native 
whom the police let severely alone and who 
stood between them and the masses; this 
was the man whom I had been fortunate 
enough to aid, and he was lying between life 
and death in that wretched hole down stairs, 
entered on the hospital blotter as a common 
mut walla (drunk and disorderly). 

Of course I had heard of him; the bazaars 
were always humming about him and his 
doings, and, as they never lost in the telling, 
he had appealed to my imagination as a won- 
derful hero, as the crystallization of all that I 
thought the Orient ought to be. To be sure, 
16 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

the Eurasians sniffed at him as a native; but 
even so, I couldn’t for the life of me see the 
force of the sniff or where it came in; but I sup- 
pose it makes all the difference in your view 
point whether your cheeks are red or brown. 

So I went to the casual ward, where the 
man had been made as comfortable as pos- 
sible with screens and punkahs, and in the 
weeks that followed I grew to know him bet- 
ter than many of his most enthusiastic follow- 
ers, and the better I knew him the more I 
liked him, and he responded to my boyish 
admiration with a cordiality that riveted the 
beginnings of a friendship that has stood the 
test of time and distance and good and evil 
repute, and flourishes to-day in the memory 
of both, I think, fresh and strong as ever. 

Four days after Mirza had been brought 
in, I was passing through the great hall 
where the gigantic statue of Sir Jamsetjee, 
the founder, is supposed to awe the too 
hilarious medical tyro and produce the state 
of gravity proper to so great a place of learn- 
ing, and as I went out the police bullock-garrie 
drove up, and a moment later the superin- 
tendent himself appeared. Three pretty 
tough looking bazaar men were bundled out 
17 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

of the game and hustled down the corridor 
to the casual ward. I half suspected what 
was up and when the superintendent caught 
me by the arm and pulled me after them I 
was sure. 

The men were taken behind the screens to 
Mirza’s bedside and he was asked to identify 
them as the men who had assaulted him. 
He looked at them keenly, critically, half 
sarcastically, as they groveled before him, 
swearing their innocence and imploring him 
for the sake of their wives and little ones not 
to mistake them for the budmashes that the 
police persisted in thinking them. Their 
pleadings would have been pitiful had not 
their groveling terror spoiled the effect, and 
at last Mirza turned his head away with a 
face of weary disgust, saying to the superin- 
tendent with a hardly disguised sneer: “An- 
other of your clever catches, Mr. Superinten- 
dent, but I can’t help you. I don’t know the 
men.” 

The officer’s face flushed angrily. “Not 
know them! Why, we have every proof 
against them; they gave themselves clear 
away. What do you mean, sir?” 

“Exactly what I say; and as for your proofs 
18 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

and their 'giving themselves away,’ I know 
your methods. I remember how some of 
my friends ‘gave themselves away’ when you 
got them on the rack. Still, that’s not the 
question. I don’t know these men and I 
won’t incriminate them. Now, you know me, 
or you ought to by this time, so please let 
that end it.” 

“No sir, that won’t end it. I appeal to Mr. 
Marlow here. He saw the whole affair. Now 
sir, what do you say?” turning to me. 

But I had caught a quick flash in Mirza’s 
eyes, and answered cautiously as I looked at 
the men: “It was very dark, you know sir, 
and on my honor, I couldn’t swear to them. 
Of course, that chap’s eye is all bunged up 
and he looks like the very devil, still, you 
know, I really couldn’t, especially after Mirza 
Sahib has denied the thing; of course he 
knows best.’ 

“Of course, of course! I merely thought 
that the roughing might have dazed his 
memory,” said the policeman, covering up 
his anger and defeat rather clumsily, for he 
could not afford to have so powerful an 
enemy in the bazaars as Mirza. Then he 
added in a low tone to the sick man: “I cer- 
19 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


tainly apologize, Mr. Mirza, and should not 
have thought of troubling you with the matter 
had I known your interests ran another way." 

But Mirza was not to be mollified and he 
answered peevishly: "Never mind my inter- 
ests, sir, or which way they run. I think I can 
look after them without any aid from the 
police.” And he flounced round and turned 
his back on us in anything but a polite man- 
ner. 

Now the fellow with the bunged up eye 
had looked out of the sound one at me with 
such a flash of malignant hate when I had 
turned to see if I could identify him that, de- 
spite of Mirza ’s denial, I thought the police 
were right; but I didn’t say any more till a 
couple of days after. Then I asked Mirza if 
he was quite sure he had made no mistake 
about the men. 

"Oh, no!" he answered smiling. "I made 
no mistake, as they’ll find when I get out.” 

"Then they were the men?” 

"Of course! Didn’t you recognize that 
Afghan beast? Jove! what a lick you gave 
him! He was a butler at a place on the hill 
and — ” 

"Then why on earth — ” 


20 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


"Well, first, I don’t like Mr. Policeman. I 
wouldn’t put a mad dog in his power. He’d 
torture the poor beast before he killed it. 
Ah! I know his little ways. Besides, I'm not 
an infant, and I have a liking for taking care 
of my own business, as those men will find 
out when I'm well; that’s all.” 

Mirza left the hospital on the tenth of the 
month, and on the fourteenth his two Hindoo 
assailants were brought in. I'll spare you a 
relation of their condition, but they stayed 
with us a little over four months and then 
went out on crutches. 

Of course the Police Superintendent smell- 
ed a rat and came with a rush for their de- 
positions; but, to my astonishment and the 
policeman’s disgust, they informed him that 
they both got drunk and both fell down a 
well. This they stuck to sturdily, and, when 
too hard pressed for details, they would quiet- 
ly faint with the pain of their wounds. That 
ended the episode, as far as they were con- 
cerned, though I may add that when they 
went limping out they were bound to Mirza 
with ties that the rack itself could never 
loosen, for he had taken their wives and little 
ones, their dogs and buffalo — aye, even the 
21 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


baby’s pet mongoose, and housed and cared 
for them all like an elder brother; even their 
business did not suffer for their absence. 
Such was the man Ager Mirza, sometimes 
called Prince. 

I asked after our Afghan friend when I got 
a chance and Mirza said, “He has escaped, 
but God is good and time is very long.” 

During the next two years I was as much 
with my new friend as my studies and hos- 
pital work permitted, and I certainly saw 
sides of native life that are barely dreamed 
of beyond the curtain that shuts the brown 
from the white. Every door opened at his 
touch, from that of Sir Fashajee Hotiboy 
down to the brazen image maker’s — that 
weazened little brown monkey — of the loveli- 
ness of whose daughters and his jealousy 
concerning them even the white log had 
heard. 

I sometimes think that, after all, the native 
twist that he used to deride in his “brothers’’ 
was to some degree in Mirza’s own brain. I 
cannot think that he was merely showing off, 
because he continued the same all the years 
I knew him. His ways and methods, even 
about the simplest things, were tortuous, but 
22 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


none the less interesting on that account. 
Walking home through the shadowy bazaars 
in the dead of the night, he would here and 
there touch one of the sleepers on the side- 
walk, pass a few words in some strange 
argot, and the fellow addressed would glide 
away into the darkness. Or a shutter would 
creak in a high wall above our heads and a 
woman’s voice would whisper a message that 
had come from the ends of the empire, per- 
chance, and was still officially unknown and 
a thousand miles away. 

There was one man whom I think we al- 
ways met, sooner or later, during our night 
rambles. Narro was a bhistee (water carrier) 
by day — by night I hardly like to think what 
— a misshapen creature, with, I think, the 
greatest depth and breadth of chest I have 
ever seen. His head was small, and, set on 
a short, thick neck between those huge 
shoulders, seemed even smaller than it was. 
With his long, sinuous arms reaching well 
below his knuckly knees and his beady little 
eyes sparkling from out a mane of lawless 
black hair, he looked like a ferocious baboon, 
yet when you came to know the man you 
saw most often a merry twinkle in his eyes 

23 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


and a broad grin on the fierce, scarred face. 
This creature seemed always to be within 
hail of Mirza since his last assault; he had but 
to speak, even when there was no sign of 
the man, and there would be a soft shuffling 
sound and the fellow would be up fawning 
on Mirza like a dog on his master, and at 
another sign would vanish as strangely. 

Now about this time came Hooly, the great 
Hindoo festival, when all the native world 
goes mad; when, crazed with opium and 
bhang, they make the night hideous with 
lewd songs as they dance in their drunken 
orgies round the great bonfires that light the 
streets. Then you see the fierce tiger that 
ever slumbers under the sleek Hindoo spring 
to savage life; you feel his hot, snarling 
breath, you catch the murderous fire from 
his eyes, and you understand the Indian 
Mutiny. 

The city is filled by^night and day with a 
great crowd of itinerant fakirs, card sharpers, 
sword swallowers, snake charmers, country- 
men, wizards, wild howling priests and, mix- 
ing in with the motley throng you see the 
Belooch in his sheepskin poshteen, mounted 
always on the wonderful Beloochi mare. Hill 
24 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

thieves and city thieves, cut-throats and 
stranglers — Hooly opens her arms to them 
all, and for the nonce the brown rules the 
white. 

Naturally the inhabitants of the “Chota 
Bhud Khana” take advantage of this pleasant 
holiday time; in other words, “the little white 
devils” go out after blood. They had found 
by past experience, that the particular fun 
that paid best was to be got out of a piece of 
elastic, a leather pocket and a swan shot 
(some use buck, but for all around satisfac- 
tion, I think I prefer swan). The ends of the 
catapult are fastened to the left thumb and 
fore-finger and the shots lie snugly in your 
mouth, between your teeth and your cheek, 
and there you are; and if you miss a Mogul 
you’re bound to hit a Hindoo, so what more 
could you want? 

Some dozen of us left the compound in a 
bunch about half-past ten at night, all in the 
most hilarious spirits and indulging in various 
kinds of horse play as we wended our way 
to the scene of action. And what a scene it 
was, to be sure! Great bonfires, only a few 
yards apart, shot up lurid against the black 
night, while round them danced hundreds of 
25 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


nude brown figures, howling and screaming 
as they bounded round and about the darting 
flames. Knives flashed freely and the sick- 
ening smell of blood filled the air, not only of 
sacrificed animals, but of frenzied men who 
cut and slashed their own bodies, burning, 
scarring and disfiguring themselves to the 
frantic applause of their audience. Each 
seemed bent on out-doing his neighbor in 
feats of blood-curdling folly. Now and again 
some naked priest would leap with a fierce 
cry right into the hungry flames; then, ere 
they could quite destroy him, his followers 
would rush, howling, and drag him out, char- 
red and insensible, but a deity for all future 
years. 

Meantime the swan shot whistled merrily. 
Zip, howl, zip, zip, zip! It was awfully funny 
to see a big, ruffianly swaggerer, with two 
or three ugly knives stuck about his naked 
body, howling at his people what a wonder- 
ful man he was, and then suddenly see the 
little swan shot nip him and cut the words 
short on his lips, and change them to a howl 
of agony as he pranced round, while his fol- 
lowers yelled their approbation of this new 
phase of spiritual unfolding. 

26 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


Now there was one particularly noisy old 
fakir that I had been endeavoring to touch 
for some time, but some other body always 
stepped in the way and spoiled my shot. At 
last the crowd cleared a space, and there was 
the old heathen kicking up his heels not ten 
yards in front of me. Now, watch the way 
of the gods. I leaned a little forward out of 
the shadow and pulled the elastic, and lo! the 
old villian, just as I let go, sprang up like a 
sky rocket, and an ugly Afghan on the other 
side of him got the shot in his ribs and the 
next instant rushed at me with a yell that 
rang high above the tom-toms. 

I tried to dodge the beast, but he came for 
me like a wildcat and I fell before his rush; 
in an instant, as I fell , I saw two things 
while his hot breath was choking me — a deep 
scar, aflame with rage, across his left eye- 
brow, and a scarlet streak as the fire flashed 
on his coming knife. God help me! How 
long it took to fall! How long it takes even 
now when the old, wicked dream gets me in 
its foul embrace! I could see the look of 
horrible, triumphant hate in the man’s eyes, 
and even recalled the last time he had struck 
at me, and remembered that those terrible 
2 7 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


eyes had been too full of blood to guide his 
vengeance then, but now, — well, it fell at 
last. My throat seemed to bunch up to meet 
the blow, and then, Alla il Alla! it missed me 
— missed me by the breath of a shadow, tear- 
ing through my coat collar and pinning me 
for a moment to the ground. 

As I struggled up I found a pair of sturdy 
brown legs standing astride of me, and I had 
hardly recognized Mirza when the Paythan 
he had upset was at us again. Now, Mirza 
was comparatively slight, and I doubt if he 
ever would have been able to stand up to 
that brute’s rush; but just before he reached 
us, something vague in the fitful light rolled 
out of the writhing crowd right into the man’s 
path and stopped his course as abruptly as a 
bullet might. The next moment he struck 
the ground, falling on his neck with an awful 
thud, and then the huge misshapen form of 
Narro, Mirza 's bodyguard, rose, with the 
Afghan gripped and held aloft in those black, 
hairy arms. 

What he would have done if let alone I 
cannot say, but at the sight of a brother 
Mahometan in the toils of a Hindoo, things 
happened rapidly. There was a cry and an 
28 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


angry rush, but Narro saw them, and, before 
the first man could reach him, I saw him 
sway once, twice, then a black mass sped 
through the air, and the man fell crashing 
right in the heart of the great fire. How long 
Narro faced them alone I don’t know, things 
were too exciting to time them; but he stood 
like the arch of a bridge, and they broke on 
him like the waters under that arch. His 
long, flail-like arms swung ceaselessly; time 
after time he would stoop and seize a coming 
man and lift him clear and swing him like a 
club right in the face of the howling, blood- 
thirsty crew. Again and again I tried to get 
to my feet, but Mirza held me down with a 
grip of steel, and again and yet again there 
came from his lips a long, thin wail that 
meant I knew not what; but it rose thin and 
sharp above the awful din, and then there 
seemed to come an echo, faint and far, then 
another, till the whole bazaar was echoing to 
that thin, singing, reedy sound. 

They came with a steady rush that drove 
everything before it. Where did they come 
from? God knows. Who and what were 
they? God knows that also, but they swarm- 
ed over us and round us like the inmates of 
29 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


a thousand beehives gone mad. They smoth- 
ered Narro and tore at his opponents like 
wild dogs. An awful mob they were! Ped- 
dlers, sharpers, beggars, thieves, all the scum 
of the town, full of arrack and bhang. And 
then the Mogul cry went up, and the long 
knives rose and sank and rose again, and the 
tom-toms ceased their drumming, and noth- 
ing was heard but the “haugh” of body 
against body and the hiss of the whirling 
knives. Even the roaring had nearly died 
away, the men saving all their breath for the 
end. 

Suddenly a bugle sang shrilly away in the 
distance, then another, then one or two 
hoarse calls in English. “Trot! Gallop! 
Charge!” and the native lancers came on us 
like a gale, using the butts of their lances 
freely as they came. 

Of course the mob broke and drifted before 
them like so many wind-blown leaves, the 
fires were stamped out, the jail-kana filled and 
also the hospital. 

I got a very severe lecture from Mirza and 
I had bad dreams for a long time — I’m not 
quite over them yet. 


CHAPTER II. 
The Black Puma. 


I never could understand how Dicky Slape 
came to foregather with a man like Ager 
Mirza. Dicky was such a serious, studious 
kind of chap — one of the few men in the ser- 
vice who had passed in Persian, while as for 
the numerous Hindoo dialects, he wallowed 
in them. He had written a book on Bud- 
dhism or some such crazy subject, and al- 
together took serious views of native life; 
and the heads of the departments nodded 
sagely and in a satisfied way when he was 
mentioned, as though crediting themselves 
with his many virtues. 

As for Mirza, well, he was simply Mirza; 
and, being so, was beyond explanation. There 
was more mystery surrounding the man 
than the whole civil service and the army to 
boot were able to probe. His enemies said 
he was an out-and-out faking scoundrel, and 
that he only needed rope enough to hang 
3i 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


himself. His friends, on the contrary, swore 
that he was the straightest, whitest, best good 
fellow in the Presidency. He was quite com- 
monly known as Prince Ager Mirza, and I 
believe that his title was a true one. 

His only visible means of support was 
gambling in its various forms, from card- 
sharping to backing his superb Arabs in the 
different meets of the season. No direct 
charge of crookedness was ever brought 
against him; but when every dirty, disreput- 
able fakir in the city — aye, and in the coun- 
try, too, for miles around — claimed to be 
akin to Prince Mirza and to be under his pro- 
tection, and when he laughingly admitted the 
claims of “his people,” as he called them — 
well, of course, His Highness was liable to 
misconception. 

That Dicky should cotton to a man like this 
was beyond me. Of course, it might have 
been his liver or the sun — fellows do cut up 
some queer shines with a well-baked liver. 
Anyway, when I ran down to Bombay I found 
Mirza and Dick running in harness together, 
and a more incongruous pair it would be 
hard to find. 

Dicky was to be found any fine race day 
3 2 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

sitting in his friend’s gayly painted cart watch- 
ing his clever manipulation of the odds with 
curious admiration and occasionally backing 
Mirza’s opinion fora couple of rupees, just to 
see if it was as clever as it looked. Then 
Mirza would sit, smoking, among his pillows 
and listen to Dicky’s views of life with a 
gravity and interest that were almost ludi- 
crous considering how utterly at variance 
they were with his own. 

Whatever the cause of the strange collab- 
oration, it proved what I often had been 
told about Mirza’s wonderful magnetic power 
— that it was strong enough to win and hold 
any man that he ever needed. Not that he 
deliberately chose Slape for a dangerous un- 
dertaking — that came later. They met cas- 
ually and were drawn together, both interest- 
ed in a strong, new type, and a friendship, 
warm and disinterested, sprang up. This 
happened at the time when Mirza needed a 
stanch friend, and as he saw with amazement 
the man’s utter single-mindedness and read 
his absurdly honest soul, he determined to 
try to win him for the bettering of both their 
fortunes. And, after much thought, he told 
his story and won Dicky from the very start. 

33 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


Mirza was the son of the old King of Ma- 
terdas and a French woman, who, despite 
her brains and beauty, had not been able to 
hold her royal husband — for there was little 
doubt that a ceremony had taken place — dur- 
ing that panicky time just before the mutiny. 
Exactly what influence had been brought to 
bear to counteract that of the woman will 
probably never be known, but the old man 
suddenly declared in favor of a native woman, 
and agreed to hand over his French wife and 
her child to the fanatics who were fanning 
the smouldering hatred that breathed in the 
land against everything white. 

Now, the presumption is that the old gen- 
tleman gave his consort a hint as to how 
things lay, for certain papers relating to the 
marriage (which could not have been reach- 
ed without his connivance) disappeared, and, 
together with the papers, the wonderful his- 
toric Star of Materdas was missing — the finest 
cluster of diamonds that ever pinned a Rajan 
turban; the star that every king had worn 
and handed down, or pinned himself upon 
his first born’s brow, to show the world his 
lawful heir. 

The city was in an uproar, and suspicion 
34 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

naturally was directed against the Queen. The 
old King was powerless to protect her; but 
for a time she held her own against the 
clamoring crew, haughtily refusing to leave 
the city with her hated offspring. As for 
the papers and the star, if she had them, she 
hid them well, for no trace of them could be 
found nor any power invoked that would 
cause her to open her mouth concerning 
them. 

And just then the voice and the message 
came flying through the land and lighted the 
awful hell-born fires that raged so long and 
direly; and the body of the Queen was found 
in the old Temple of Han, with a priceless 
wine cup clutched in her hand, from which 
still trickled a few drops of a poison so rare 
that even the old Jain priest was at fault as to 
its origin. Whether it was murder or suicide 
was never clearly established, but from the 
triumphant smile that lingered on. the face of 
the dead Queen one might judge that she had 
not passed out till she had accomplished her 
work, and then passed gladly. 

In the stormy time that followed, the child 
was flung to and fro like a shuttlecock, super- 
stitious reverence for royal blood alone sav- 
35 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


ing its life. At length one Bayda, a servant 
of the Queen, took a hand in the game, and, 
seizing the little one, fled to Calcutta and 
placed himself and his charge under the 
protection of the Viceroy. 

Mirza had grown up with this old man in 
his service, but not until he reached full 
manhood himself did he hear a whisper of 
his secret, and not then till old Bayda lay 
a-dying. Then he spoke and told Mirza that 
the Queen had carried the star and the papers 
into the old temple by the passage from the 
royal zenana, and that before going she had 
given him a paper and sworn him to the ser- 
vice of the young prince. The paper he 
never had understood, and thought the 
message probably the impulse of a tortured, 
unstrung mind. Still, he had proved faithful 
to his trust, and now handed Mirza a slip of 
yellow parchment on which was faintly traced 
in Urdu the enigmatical sentence, “Out of the 
belly of wisdom cometh riches and honor." 

Mirza had kept his old strip of parchment 
hidden away among his chief treasures for 
over ten years, believing that all he needed 
was a clue — probably a slight one — to explain 
the mysterious message; but it had never 
36 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


come. He had questioned fakirs, pundits 
and priests alike concerning the famous 
Temple of Han, and had learned much, 
though the only thing that seemed to bear in 
any way on the message was the fact that the 
old temple was commonly known as the 
“House of Wisdom.” He had long surmised 
that the “belly of wisdom” referred to the 
interior of the temple; but further than this 
he had utterly missed the clue that he sought. 

His idea was for Dick to get a permit to 
make some archaeological studies in Mater- 
das. This would practically give him the 
freedom of the city, and he could, if he 
chose, spend a month in the very “belly of 
wisdom” itself. He dare not go to Materdas 
himself, except in disguise, and certainly 
could not enter the temple without other in- 
fluence than he possessed. 

Now, when I say that Slape was poor and 
that there was a little girl waiting most pa- 
tiently in a hot up-country station, it may, 
perhaps, serve to explain why our paragon 
embarked in what some might term a ques- 
tionable undertaking. I confess, however, 
that my only criticism referred to Mirza’s fail- 
ure to let me into the game, too. 

37 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


In due time the permit passed through the 
various departments, and the heads thereof 
nodded approvingly, “Ah, Slape to the front 
again? Good boy, Slape! Good boy!" 

So these twain journeyed together to Ma- 
terdas as master and man. Mirza had grown 
a pundit’s beard, black and long, for the oc- 
casion, and traveled as Arkut Dhab, secretary 
and confidential servant to the bara scientific 
Sahib. While Slape, with his genuine hobby 
for antiques, naturally filled his part to per- 
fection. Their credentials brought them an 
imposing reception in the old walled city, and 
they spent several days receiving and answer- 
ing calls of ceremony; but at last they were 
free, and the city was practically at their 
mercy. 

They commenced their investigations a 
long way from their objective point, and by 
the time they had worked round to the tem- 
ple they had already met and made friends 
with the old Hindu priest Haddee, who per- 
sonally made them welcome and showed 
them into the famous shrine. 

They recognized at once that the temple 
had well earned its reputation. So long had 
the gospel of mystery and fear held sway that 
38 


THE WAV OF THE GODS. 


the very air seemed heavy with its subtle 
vibrations. The whole place was utterly 
forbidding, and they found themselves follow- 
ing old Haddee’s soft footsteps almost stealth- 
ily. The hideous carvings, just touched by 
the feeble, yellow lamp light, seemed to start 
out from the shadows, as if to arrest them; 
and when, at last, Haddee left and the 
echo of his going had died away, a chill 
sense of discomfort seized them and they 
gazed in questioning uneasiness at each other; 
then a bat swirled heavily past, and they 
started like two children frightened in the 
dark. 

As they gazed up at one of the massive 
idols a dark, flat head was lifted, hissing, for 
a moment, then sank to rest again; and once 
a serpent uncoiled lazily from round a fluted 
pillar and slowly slipped away to some more 
shadowy resting place. That they were 
drowsy, torpid boas did not much lessen the 
horror of the place to the men, and they 
were glad to cut short their visit and get out 
into the sunshine once more. 

At their next visit they set to work to make 
as thorough an inspection of the place as 
possible; but, although the shrine was better 
39 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


lighted in their honor, still the pillars and 
carvings and heavy time-stained pedestals, 
together with all the weird, fantastic decora- 
tion, made lurking places for a thousand 
shadows that never were disturbed. The 
bats and flying foxes whirred among the 
fretted roof columns, and the torpid serpents 
eyed their approach with beady stare as they 
hung, coiled, from their various vantage 
points. 

After a while, however, they grew some- 
what used to their surroundings, and Slape 
began his investigations in a businesslike 
manner. Beginning with the idols, he used 
his wooden sounding mallet freely, in the 
hope of finding a cavity; but they all respond- 
ed solidly enough to discourage the most 
earnest seeker. 

He had, with a good deal of scrambling, 
reached the broad shoulders of the biggest 
and ugliest deity of them all — presumably 
the mighty Han himself — and was about to 
sound his ochre-colored jaws, when he start- 
ed with a half-cry and almost lost his balance, 
for within a foot of his face, with its curved 
body apparently gliding through the dark- 
ness, was a huge, malignant-looking boa. 

40 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


Its head was thrown back and the grewsome 
jaws were opened wide. 

Slape would surely have fallen, but Mirza, 
who had been keeping watch, sprang like an 
active cat to his aid, his long knife gleaming 
over his friend’s shoulder as he half-support- 
ed him. But the brute didn’t come; it just 
stayed poised and oscillating, and Mirza 
caught the flickering oil lamp from the god’s 
head and thrust it toward the snake, and 
then their scare was over, but not their 
astonishment, for the light flashed back a 
hundred glinting lines that fairly dazzled 
them; from the diamond eyes, till they seem- 
ed like bright living things; from the body 
too — that was ringed with jade and gold and 
set with many gems — the light came back a 
living flame, that shook and trembled as the 
serpent vibrated back and forth. It was 
one of the great snakes evidently, stuffed or 
embalmed, according to the custom, and 
suspended by delicate wires. These wires, 
being continually affected by the restless bats 
above, causing the sinuous movements that 
so easily deceived the senses. 

For days they wandered round the gloomy 
old den, vainly seeking some clue to the dead 
4i 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


Queen’s message. Here, with its quick more 
horrible than its dead, mystery reigned su- 
preme and lent its shelter to a thousand 
secret things; and Mirza sighed and shook 
his head as he owned that with an army of 
carpenters he could hardly hope to find his 
own. And the big garlanded gods looked 
down in silent mockery on their hopeless 
search. 

But just when despair seized them light 
came. Dick had been in the habit of taking 
notes and making sketches for his own and 
old Haddee’s edification; and of an evening 
they would sit and talk with the smooth old 
Hindu, showing him their work, explaining 
it and asking questions about the various 
Hindu shrines, ever with the hope that some 
word of his might lead them to their heart’s 
desire. 

One night Slape asked him the origin of 
the temple’s name of “Wisdom,” and the 
blood went singing in their ears as they 
heard his reply: 

“Wisdom, my fathers, was the first serpent 
who dwelt among us. There are many 
stories as to the time and manner of his com- 
ing — so many that I may not choose; but this 
42 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

I know, Wisdom was in the temple while my 
uncle was yet a boy, and even then the time 
and method of his coming were faint and 
dim; and when the Wise One passed away- 
at the time of his greatest perfection — my 
uncle was an old, old man. Now, Wisdom 
came to thwart the work of an evil spirit, who, 
as a woman, possessed the late King. She 
died at the great god’s feet one night, and 
the body of Wisdom laid beside her, for his 
work was done. 

“And that same night, as my uncle was 
praying in the shrine, he saw a coal-black 
puma pass before his eyes and crouch by the 
dead serpent’s body, which was even then 
laid out for the embalmers; and the puma 
watched beside it till the break of day and 
then vanished. It was undoubtedly the new 
body of Wisdom receiving the last breath of 
his serpent spirit. So then the body was em- 
balmed and hung in honor, and the brazen 
Wisdom was carved upon the roof, and ever 
since Wisdom and Han have ruled together.” 

“And the black puma?” questioned Slape. 

“Yes, Sahib, it is undoubtedly still in the 
temple. I myself have heard its purring 
breath as I prayed at night, and often has its 
43 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


velvet footfall caught my ear as it followed 
me round and round the shrine. The others, 
Aguf and his brother — and once, I think, his 
brother’s son — have at times seen its dark 
shadow, dim and indistinct, but unmistake- 
able; and once again they heard a snarl, but 
that was all.” 

“Were you not afraid?” 

“At first, perhaps, till we found its presence 
was for good. You see, a mut- walla — 
drunkard — once broke in, and in the morn- 
ing we found him dead — the sacrilegious dog! 
— and on his breast the mark of claws and in 
his throat. And the wonder of it spread, 
and now the gates stand open night and day 
and Aguf and I sleep in peace, for my Lord, 
the puma, guards well the treasures of th& 
shrine.” 

A week later Richard Slape, scientist, and 
his secretary, Arkut Dhab, bade farewell to 
their official friends at Materdas, and late the 
same afternoon were escorted some distance 
on their homeward journey by a jangling 
troop of native horse and a few of the head 
officials of the city. Then, after many pro- 
testations of good will, they were left to their 
own devices. 


44 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

When the returning cavalcade was well out 
of sight these two gentlemen turned aside 
and rode off in the direction of a patch of 
jungle. From this same patch there emerged, 
a couple of hours later, two half-naked and 
altogether disreputable looking fakirs, who 
wandered off toward the city. These two 
worthies hired a couple of tough hill ponies 
toward nightfall, and that was the last record- 
ed of them for several hours. 

********** 

“Now then, quick; in with you, old man! 
Now the door! B-r-r-r! How that bolt jars! 
So, Wisdom Sahib, we’ll soon settle your 
little business! Oh, Dicky, what a scheme! 
To feed the great Wisdom on marriage cer- 
tificates and prize jewels! I wonder what 
she wrapped them up in to tempt the wise 
one, eh, Dicky?” So Mirza rambled on in a 
low, chuckling whisper; but Slape was ner- 
vous and ill at ease, and finally turned on him 
sharply: 

“Shut up and turn on the light, can’t you? 
It’s simply beastly walking in this hole,” he 
added, apologetically. “Why, a fellow might 
tread on one of those frightful, impossible 

45 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


brutes; besides, there might be something in 

that puma story, after all, and then ” 

“Puma story!" snorted Mirza. “Why, you’re 
as bad as a ryot (farmer), believing such rot. 
I’d bet a bag of gold mohrs the lying old vil- 
lain made the whole fake up to save keeping 
watch. May his gods bless his dirty little 
soul!” he added, fervently. 

“Well, I don’t know, you know ” 

“Oh, drop it Slape. Here, you shin up the 
god and rip the snake and I’ll look out for 
your puma; and if he comes he’ll find a live 
man anyway, not a dirty mut-walla. Bah! 
Hurry up, Slape!" 

Dick was soon astride the big idol’s should- 
ers with a dark lantern and a long knife with 
which to rip open the “belly of Wisdom.” 
He drew the head toward him and began to 
saw and dig at the scaly skin, but the em- 
balming process had so toughened the body 
that he made little impression. He was still 
twisting and cutting when a sudden chill 
seized him and he felt his flesh creeping with 
a sickening fear. He sat quite still, listening 
breathlessly. Whether it was some strange 
premonition of evil or he had really heard 
something to startle his senses he could not 
46 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


tell; but the cold sweat broke out over him 
as he sat waiting for — he knew not what. 

He turned in a moment, impatient at his 
sudden weakness, and was about to speak to 
Mirza when something in the man’s attitude 
arrested him. He was leaning slightly for- 
ward, peering uneasily into the gloom, and 
Slape saw that he had drawn his knife and 
that the sinews in the hand that clutched it 
were tense and rigid. The whole figure was 
set and motionless, and Slape watched it and 
the gloom beyond with an absorbed fascina- 
tion. Once his hand moved half-uncon- 
sciously as it closed on the butt of his revol- 
ver. 

Somewhere deep in his subconsciousness 
he began to count “One, two, three,” slowly 
and rhythmically, and when he reached the 
mystic seven, on the stillness fell a sudden, 
purring snarl. 

Mirza made a wild spring for the pedestal, 
but quicker than thought a flying shadow 
sped through the gloom, and a great cat 
lighted full on his chest, bearing him back- 
ward and down with a horrible grinding 
crash. 

For one awful moment Dicky clung with 
47 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

his arms round the god’s neck, faint and dizzy 
with fear, and then his nerve came back. 
Mirza was struggling furiously, and he could 
hear the panting, snarling breath of the puma 
and the fierce invectives of the man as he 
gripped his enemy’s throat. 

And then Slape reached the floor, his knife 
ringing out as it slipped from his hand and 
struck the old oak pedestal. There was no 
time to regain it, and he sprang quickly to 
the struggling mass. There was a metallic 
click, a pistol shot that sounded like the 
crack of doom and the great black brute fell 
away, while Mirza struggled free, and rose 
staggering, faint and bloody. 

“Quick, Slape, for God’s sake! That shot 
will rouse all — Ah, listen! They’re here al- 
ready. Quick and tear the brute down!” 

Dick sprang up again and slashed at the 
wires in a perfect frenzy, till at last old Wis- 
dom fell with a thud, scattering his jeweled 
bangles far and near; and Mirza seized him 
and bent and twisted till he forced the tor- 
tured body in his sack and knotted it secure- 

ty- 

But even then quick feet were hurrying 
over the flagged courtyard. They paused an 
48 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


instant at the door, then it was shaken, and a 
loud voice called for help. 

They stood for a moment in uncertainty, 
still panting from their exertion; then, right 
over their heads, the clang of the great alarm 
bell rang out with an iron clash, and a mo- 
ment later came an echo, faint and far, and 
then another, till all the bells in the city 
seemed to be giving voice in one vast ac- 
cusing clang. 

Then the men broke for the door, with 
the precious bag swingingfrom Mirza’s back. 
They crossed the inner court unhindered, 
but at the outer gate a crowd was already 
gathered. Torches were flaming, and old 
Haddee was urging the men into the inner 
court. They hung back, however, talking 
and gesticulating wildly as Haddee raved 
among them, first pleading, then heaping 
reproaches on their cowardly heads. But 
the fame of the black puma was greater than 
even the priest’s power over them, and they 
would not cross the threshold, though every 
moment their numbers were augmented, as 
men — aye, and women, too, and children — 
came hurrying in answer to the wildly jang- 
ling bells. 


49 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


And as they waited there came the rush of 
the spoilers’ feet across the court, and the 
men closed in on the door to meet them, but 
the next moment fell back before the wild 
rush of a half-naked fakir, who sprang, 
screaming, into the circle of torchlight. His 
face was bloody and terrible, and something 
shapeless clung about his back and round his 
throat, despite his apparent efforts to shake 
it off. 

As he sprang through the gates he shrieked 
aloud, swinging his long Afghan knife wildly: 
“Bhood! Bhood! Sheitan ke butcha kaba- 
dar!” (“The Devil! The Devil! Beware the 
son of the evil one!”) And snatching the 
nearest torch, he dashed it wildly here and 
there in the face of the startled crowd, who 
gave way right and left before his fierce 
springs. The bag, too, seemed a thing of 
life in the shifting, uncertain light — a thing 
that was clutching at his throat, and a cry 
went up: “The puma! The black puma!” 
and they broke in every direction, the women 
and children screaming with terror as Mirza, 
followed by Slape, dashed through them. 

Five minutes later came the rattle of horses’ 
hoofs along the Nulspur road, but they soon 

5 ° 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

grew faint and died away; and then, one by 
one, the jangling bells were hushed and the 
men slunk home, with many a backward 
glance of fear. 

And the story is told in Materdas how 
Sheitan came in the form of a fakir, and how 
the black puma had driven him out of the 
temple, and that they had ridden; fighting 
and screaming, out into the wilderness on 
a horse that sprang from the earth at the 
evil one’s call. There were those who said 
that another devil besides this particular one 
had run from the temple, too, and had rid- 
den away behind his master, but these were 
in a minority. 

Meantime “Sheitan” and his friend effected 
a rapid change of costume in the friendly 
patch of jungle, and astride of their own 
heavy hunters, they made a record for cross- 
country riding that would have opened the 
eyes of the members of the Bombay Gym- 
kana, and they can ride a bit themseves, too. 
They struck the railroad at a point where the 
early morning express stops for water, and 
ten minutes later were rattling away for Bom- 
bay. 

The next week Slape reported for duty, but 
5i 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

it was many a long day before I got the story 
of their raid. About the contents of Wis- 
dom’s belly they kept tight mouths to the 
end, swearing that it was a fake, after all, and 
that the brute was stuffed with sawdust. This 
may be, but within six months the patient 
little girl was married, and shortly after Slape 
left the service and set up a laboratory of his 
own. 

And Mirza? Well, Mirza blossomed out 
into greater magnificence than ever, and at a 
grand durbar at the Government House I saw 
a certain high official single him out for 
special courtesy, and I heard, actually heard 
him call his guest — Prince Ager Mirza. 

There are those who go so far as to say 
that had Mirza’s mother been English instead 
of French the present King might not rule 
at Materdas to-day. 


CHAPTER III. 

The House in The Lal Bazaar. 


I was lounging lazily on the promenade at 
the old "Fort” bandstand one afternoon, 
listening to the music and absorbing, together 
with my Trinchinopoly, the wondrous wealth 
of form and color that makes this particular 
promenade, at bandtime, a picture so charm- 
ing, so vital and withal so bizarre as to place 
it far ahead of anything the Occident can pro- 
duce. What other driveway of the world 
can boast such a decorative setting of sea 
and headland, of tall, windy palms that mass 
the background, breaking here and there 
with views of distant green, of low, graceful 
buildings with pillared logias wreathed in 
trailing vines — a fitting stage indeed for such 
a pagent. 

See now! There goes a Rajput prince, the 
syces clearing the way for his silver-harness- 
ed horses; and, galloping in a crescent back 
of his carriage, come his grim-faced Indian 
53 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


lanciers — soldiers every man of them, with 
their neat Karkee uniforms, gold-fringed 
turbans and clanking tulwars, their scarlet 
pennons fluttering from the tips of their 
lances adding another splash to the riot of 
color. And the haughty looking gentleman 
on the long tailed horse is an Arab sheik, 
and that striped yellow shawl is the famous 
•kafeeya” of his race. 

Then comes a man in English-cut clothes, 
wearing a white turban and driving tandem 
from the top of a high two-wheeler — the 
Rajah of Nagpore. And the fat man in the 
elegant victoria, who looks like a Jew, is the 
great Sir Jamsetjee Jeejiboy himself — the 
most important Parsee of them all. And so 
on through the whole motley throng, car- 
riage loads of silk-clad Parsee ladies, gazing 
out of their great languid eyes with just a 
touch of scorn at “hoi-polloi.” Mussul- 
man and Hindoo merchants, black-mitred 
Parsee students, wandering, book in hand; 
and now and again a merry crowd of dusky 
girls go laughing past in the brightly painted 
bullock gharrie, garlands of jasmine crown- 
ing the girls and beasts alike. 

And the warm glow of the setting sun 
54 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


touches it all to crimson and gold and falls 
aslant on the swaying palms that bend to the 
breeze that fans them with a loverlike caress. 
And by-and-by the sun changes from gold to 
red, grows misty, hangs awhile, then sinks — 
a fiery ball below the quivering rim of the 
Arabian Gulf. And as it sinks it seems to 
draw our hearts and we turn our eyes and 
watch it go in silence. 

I turned to go with the rest and was just 
crossing the drive when a horse, the leader 
of a tandem, was pulled up so suddenly at 
my shoulder that I sprang aside in some 
fright, and was just swearing at the driver 
when a syce ran round and collared the 
prancing leader, at the same time grinning 
and salaaming at me, while a voice called 
from the cart: “Hullo; Jack! Jump up, quick, 
old man; the brutes won’t stand. There, 
that’s right! Let her go, Sarki!” and before I 
had time to realize it I was being tooled back 
through the city by the prettiest whip in the 
whole Presidency — Ager Mirza. 

“Well, and how is the Hakheem Sahib? 
Here, throw that evil weed away and smoke 
a decent cigar, like a Christian.” 

“The Hakheem Sahib is certainly none the 

55 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

better for being pawed by that horse of yours, 

and as for the cigar Here, where are we 

going, anyway? This isn’t Byculla!” 

“No, thank the gods, it’s not exactly By- 
culla, close as it is; but it soon will be Mala- 
bar Hill — short cut you see; and Hakheem 
Sahib, whither I go thou goest also, or I’ll 
know the reason why. No; jesting apart, I’ve 
been chasing you all the afternoon. Went to 
the hospital, and Phipps said you had gone 
to the Fort; went to the Fort and nearly got 
arrested for reckless driving — all for the 
pleasure of having your company at dinner 
to-night.” 

“But ” I began to expostulate. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” he interrupted, airily, 
“I fixed Phipps — good fellow, Phipps! He’ll 
watch out if the Surgeon General turns up, 
and swear it’s cholera morbus.” 

So I held my peace, the more resignedly, 
perhaps, because I knew just what a delicious 
little dinner was in store for me. I had not 
seen Mirza since his return from Europe, 
and was eager to have a good long evening 
with him — it was always so well worth while. 
We turned into the compound at length and 
were welcomed by. the dogs before we were 
56 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

half way to the house. Abdulla, the fat 
Mahometan butler, was at the door, and ten 
minutes later we were discussing our ven- 
ison. 

I had not attempted to question Mirza as 
to his sudden and overpowering desire for 
my company. I knew him too well, and sat 
stolidly puffing at my cigar and drinking the 
excellent coffee that Abdulla kept supplying. 
The dinner had been after my own heart, the 
wines just cool enough, and my favorite 
brand, too. So, in an attitude of quiet con- 
tent, I smoked on, lazily waiting for my host 
to spring his little petard; but when he did 
so I confess I was considerably astonished — 
it came so suddenly. 

“What’s catalepsy, Doc?” 

“Catalepsy! How the devil do I know?” 

“Oh, excuse me, old man; I could hardly 
expect it, you know; but I thought it might 
be in your line.” 

“What d’ye want to know for, anyway? 
Feel the symptoms of an attack coming on?” 

“Don’t be an idiot, Jack. Tell me what you 
know about it. Have you seen many cases 
in your work?” 

“Sixty or seventy, I suppose. But nervous 
57 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


diseases are always difficult to explain to a 
layman, even if one understands them one- 
self. You can’t demonstrate catalepsy like a 
cold in the head, you know. But, to put it 
roughly, it’s an affection of the nervous sys- 
tem closely allied to hysteria, which mani- 
fests itself only in peculiarly organized sub- 
jects. So far it is comparatively easy sailing, 
but there are complications that baffle the 
best of us.” 

“For instance?” 

“Well, the subject is liable to go into a 
state of trance where there is an undoubted 
exaltation of the mental faculties, and in 
some cases there are well-marked phe- 
nomena which are simply inexplainable from 
any rational basis.” 

“You’ve undoubtedly seen some of the 
miracle workers of this place. Does this 
same catalepsy explain their power, too?" 

“To save my life, I can’t say. I examined 
a fakir once, and would have staked my 
reputation that he was dead, I gave him an 
electric shock that would have stirred him 
even had he been dead; yet ten minutes later, 
when I had got quite through with him, he 
came twisting and shivering back to life, and 
58 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

after a few weak movements he got his 
strength again, and, wrapping his few filthy 
rags about him, he stalked away with the 
dignity of a lord of creation. No, I don’t 
attempt to diagnose such cases as that.” 

“So! Well, I want you to come with me 
and visit a subject, as you call ’em, tonight. 
There’s a woman, a foreigner — Egyptian, I 
think — in the Lai Bazaar. She sent me a 
message — a strange one — to the effect that a 
dead fakir was crying to me for vengeance, 
and that if I would go to her she would call 
him out from the shadows — whatever that 
may mean — and let him explain himself. Of 
course, you know how all these rascals look 
on me as a kind of protector; also that to 
some extent I acknowledge the claim, finding 
their services extremely useful on occasions. 
Now, to one of these fellows — a man I felt 
sure of — I intrusted a commission — a most 
delicate and important one. He was to carry 
to an agent of mine in Lahore a small signet 
ring and receive from him a package for me. 
I will not trouble to tell you the contents of 
the package, but will only say that they were 
absolutely valueless to any one except my- 
self; that is,” he added, suddenly, frowning, 
59 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


as if the thought were new and unpleasantly 

suggestive, ‘-unless — unless ” He did 

not finish the sentence; but, rising hastily, 
passed in through the French windows to 
his sitting room. 

He was away perhaps ten minutes, and 
when he returned his face was still dark and 
troubled. “Anything wrong?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. I had some 
papers in a certain drawer. They are still 
there, and it may be all right. The drawer 
was secret, and the men of my house are my 
friends. Still, I could have sworn they were 
placed in a different order. Well,” he added, 
“they are there, anyway, and that’s the prin- 
cipal thing at present. I’ll satisfy myself 
about them later.” 

After a while he took up his story again 
“As I was saying, I sent this man to Lahore. 
The express leaves at midnight, and he should 
have reported there late the second day after. 
Yet this is the sixth day, and nothing has 
been seen of him. Of course, I have wired 
my agents and men are on the watch at a 
hundred city gates while they peddle their 
wares, but so far with no result. Now you 
see the significance of this Egyptian’s mes- 
60 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


sage, which came this morning. Under any 
other conditions I should have declined to 
go, and, indeed, had almost done so, when I 
remembered that Slape had told me about a 
year ago that you were poking into somnam- 
bulism and things. So I changed my mind 
and determined to go, anyway, if I could get 
you along.” 

“Of course I’ll go willingly, though I don’t 
see what earthly use I’ll be,” I added, doubt- 
fully. 

“Well, I don’t know; but, perhaps, you may 
be able to tell if the thing is genuine or not. 
You see, I don’t know anything about these 
things, despite my father’s blood.” 

“All right, old man, I’ll go," said I. Then 
added: “You say the matter is of great im- 
portance?” for I was curious at seeing him so 
disturbed. 

“Importance!” he echoed. “If ever they 
get the combination of my Lahore package 
and the papers in my desk at Materdas I 
might as well go and hang myself at once. I 
have some very dear friends in that city, as 
you know.” 

And then he sat brooding. And I, remem- 
bering the story of his mother’s tragic end 
61 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


and the mystery of his life, held my peace. 

It was dark as we set out, and one of 
Mirza’s men preceded us with a lantern till 
we reached the brighter ways of the bazaar, 
where we dismissed him. 

The Lai bazaar is not the easiest place to 
traverse even in the daylight; its narrow, tor- 
tuous streets leading as often as not to an 
impassable mud wall or possibly ending 
abruptly in a cow shed. Huge rats scurry 
about the dark alleys with a peculiar guttural 
snarl; great black shapes rise from the earth 
at your feet and stumble clumsily away, their 
bells alone proclaiming them to be the fa- 
miliar buffalo. Mirza, however, threade d his 
way through the darkest alleys quickly and 
easily, while I stumbled along close behind 
him. 

At last we came to a high blank wall, and 
some thirty feet along it to a closed door. 
Mirza rapped twice, then thrice in rapid 
succession, and almost immediately the door 
swung in and we entered a narrow passage 
or alley, for I saw the stars shining far above 
us. There was the usual bracket, with its 
oil cup and little burning wick, the light from 
which was making a futile struggle with the 
62 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


darkness. We stood waiting a moment, then 
a window opened in the wall above us and a 
woman — a negress — looked out and demand- 
ed our business. Mirza replied to her in some 
jargon that I did not understand. She drew 
back, closing the window after her, and we 
waited again till a light appeared further 
along the passage and the woman beckoned 
us forward. 

We followed her up a narrow stairway and 
into an ill-lighted room, where we had an- 
other wait for some few minutes. Then the 
purdah at the end of the room was 
drawn back and once more the old negress 
beckoned us to enter and dropped the cur- 
tain behind us. 

For an instant I was completely bewildered, 
although from my trips in the native quarter 
with Mirza I should have been better pre- 
pared; but the whole of our little adventure 
had been so sordid and seemed to lie in such 
utterly mean places that my surprise was 
excusable. The light fell softly from several 
perfumed lamps — so softly that it seemed to 
tint rather than light, suggest rather than 
make plain the furnishing of the room we 
entered. 

S3 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

Our feet sank in the rugs that strewed the 
floor, and we both paused a moment in gen- 
uine admiration of the artistic effect of the 
room. The rare old tapestries, with their 
rich wine tints; the great Egyptian vases and 
curious carvings; the glowing censer, half- 
hidden in a perfumed cloud; the divans with 
their royal trappings; and last, and perhaps 
most wonderful, the great crystal that stood 
on its carved pedestal in the centre of the 
room and seemed to pulse and beat with a 
vital, rosy flame. As we stood, a dog — a 
shaggy wolfhound — came stretching lazily 
across the rugs to us, and, after a few inves- 
tigating sniffs, turned back again; and as our 
eyes followed him we saw a movement 
among the pillows of a divan. Two naked 
arms were stretched out lazily, there was a 
yawn and then a laughing voice bid us wel- 
come. 

I have often tried to describe Narda, but I 
always fail. I can shut my eyes and she 
rises up out of the past, clear and distinct. I 
can remember the tones of her voice, the 
subtle perfume of her hair, the details of her 
garb, from the coiled snake that held her hair 
to the gold fillet that bound her sandals; but 
64 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

when I try to picture the woman herself she 
seems to draw away and mock me, and then 
I forgot my task and find myself looking into 
the half-closed eyes as I used to look in by- 
gone days, and wondering, as I used to won- 
der, if they really had a hidden meaning, and, 
if so, what it was. And then I wake and 
stretch and yawn exactly as I used to do, and 
half expect to hear her mocking laugh that 
taunted me with yielding to her spell of 
sleep. But no! This is not Egypt or Bom- 
bay — just London, and a part of it called Hol- 
born — christened “High," and the fire and my 
pipe are cold and dead, and the set furniture 
seems to grow stiffer still as my lips linger 
a moment fondly over her name. 

Mirza advanced and stood talking with her, 
while I stood, staring rudely, I’m afraid, till 
he introduced me, and then she said: “Yes, I 
expected him, and you could not have come 
without him.” And when Mirza looked puz- 
zled she added: “Not only that, but I could 
not have sent for you till it was time for us 
to meet. I know you both, and we shall meet 

often in the future, and Ah! the gods 

are impatient. Watch and do not speak.” 

Turning at her words and following her 

65 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

outstretched hand, we saw the crystal chang- 
ing from rose to opal, then pulsing quickly 
back again; and then it seemed as if a spring 
of flame suddenly shot up from its cloudy 
heart and poured over its rim in waves of 
molten fire. After a moment this ceased and 
the glass grew cloudy; then slowly out of the 
cloud a picture began to form, though 
whether it was in the crystal or in the air 
between it and us I could not tell. Gradually 
it evolved as we stood watching, and at last 
grew firm and distinct, as sharp as a photo- 
graph, or, rather, as the picture of a camera 
obscura, and we both uttered an exclamation 
as we recognized a corner of Mirza’s sitting 
room, the den that I knew almost as well as 
my own. 

The whole room was there, for in a distant 
corner I could see Jo, Mirza’s fox terrier, 
sleeping on a cane lounge; but it was in half- 
darkness, while the corner nearest us was in 
the full rays of a burning lamp that stood on 
a bracket close to my friend’s desk. As we 
gazed the door opened and Abdulla entered. 
He peered uneasily around, then closed and 
locked the door and came sidling up to the 
desk, pased a moment, then opened it; and, 
66 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

after a little fumbling-, drew out a dark flat 
case; and as he did so I heard Mirza draw in 
a long breath and his fingers gripped my arm 
till I came near screaming. 

Then the man in the picture started vio- 
lently, and we saw Jo, the terrier, come growl- 
ing across the room, the bristles on his spine 
showing in a stiff ridge. Abdulla made a 
motion to drive him away (I remembered 
then that the two had never been friends); 
but Jo, after feinting to run, sprang at the 
fellow’s sari, tearing it away, and then, fixing 
his teeth in the brown leg, began to tear 
fiercely at it. 

We could see that Abdulla was howling 
with pain, although the play was all panto- 
mime; but the next moment he leaned over 
and grasped poor Jo by the throat. The 
dog made a game struggle, tearing and biting, 
but the man got him on the floor, and his 
hands and knees soon did the work even as 
we two men, who loved the little one, stood 
impotently by. Then the fellow moved to 
the door, with the limp little body in his arms. 
He walked with evident pain and haltingly, 
and at the door put the dog down and bound 
his torn sari round the bite. 

6 7 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

The picture moved now for all the world 
as if a strong wind had ruffled it, and the 
next moment we were out in the compound, 
among the shrubbery, and there we saw 
Abdulla bury his victim and then creep 
stealthily away. That was all, and the next 
moment the fire came tearing through the 
crystal again, as though anxious to burn 
away the memory of a foul deed. 

Mirza sank down on the lounge, with a face 
showing white and set under the tan, and I 
saw that his eyes were wet, while, to his last- 
ing honor, he thought of his friend before his 
foe. “Poor little Jo!” he murmured, broken- 
ly. “Poor little Jo!” 

Then Narda’s hand fell on his shoulder. 
“Would you see him once again, my lord?” 
she asked. 

“Can you do this?” he murmured, hoarsely. 

“Wait and see!” 

She rose and walked back and forth several 
times, moving her hands gropingly, while 
we sat and watched her. Then she stopped 
suddenly and flung out her rounded arm for- 
biddingly, muttering: “No, not you! Not yet! 
Wait!" But the next instant fell back, crying, 
“Well, then come!” 

68 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


I felt my spine creeping and a cold sweat 
break on my forehead as we sat glaring into 
the shadowy draperies; and then just how it 
happened I could not see for my horror, but 
the shadows seemed to rise and mass them- 
selves, to toss and heave and then take shape 
and form, and a man came tottering forth, 
with his hand to his throat and the blood 
oozing through. And Mirza sprang up with 
a look of awful horror on his face and a 
harsh muttering in his throat as the man 
came on. Then he cried, hoarsely, “Ramin 
Dhat!” The man came close up and fell on 
his knees before him, making pitiful efforts 
to speak, and for a while could not. 

But at last, with a great effort, he rose, and 
his voice came in a harsh, guttural cry: “Ven- 
geance, my lord! Vengeance!” and fell prone 
on his face at his master’s feet. 

Mirza stood rigid, hardly seeming to breathe; 
while I, recovering something of my 
nerve, knelt beside the form. It was twitch- 
ing and jerking in a horrible manner; but as 
I touched it it rose slowly to its knees and 
pointed to the wounded throat and then to 
the stomach, making signs that I could not 
understand, but finally ceased and pointed at 
69 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


the crystal, which was working again. And 
there we saw the whole tragedy. The man 
Ramin Dhat walking down the hill, and fol- 
lowing him Abdulla and another; they join 
him and talk a while; then there is a struggle. 
Ramin breaks and runs, and as he does so 
his hand goes to his mouth; but they soon 
catch him; he is thrown heavily and there 
comes the downward flash of a knife, and 
we see that the arm that drives it is scarred 
to the elbow. Then the light goes out of the 
crystal once more, and we turn again to the 
man, but he is gone. How? When? Where? 
God knows, and I believe He only. 

We did not see poor little Jo. We were 
both too utterly sick in brain and body to 
wait, but hurried out into the cool night air, 
and I felt like shrieking, but Mirza strode on, 
grim and silent. At the foot of the hill he 
paused, and, holding out his hand, said: 
“Forgive me, but we had best part here. 
Good night.” 

“But why?" I cried. “What are you going 
to do?” 

“My duty,” he answered, sternly. “Good 
night.” 

I was hardly likely to sleep that night, and, 
70 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

after tossing for an hour or so, I dressed 
again and went across the garden to the hos- 
pital. The casuals' ward is on the ground 
floor to the right as you enter, and as I was 
passing it two hammals came out with a 
stretcher. 

“Who is it?” I asked, raising the sheet. It 
was Ramin Dhat. 

I think somehow I must have known it 
before I saw him, as I did not even start, but 
quietly ordered the body to the dissecting 
room, where I followed it. 

On inquiry I heard that the man had been 
found at the foot of the hill where we had 
seen the pictured struggle and brought to the 
hospital five or six days before. The wound 
in his throat had been beyond the possibility 
of cure, but he had lingered on unconscious 
till about half an hour before I had come in 
that same night, so that he was alive at the 
time of our strange encounter in the house 
in the Lai Bazaar. 

From the actions of the man in the picture 
I had formed certain suspicions about the 
lost ring, and they proved correct. He had 
swallowed the ring during his short dash for 
liberty, and after some little trouble, details 
7i 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

of which I need not relate, I got it back for 
Mirza. 

A few weeks later two men were brought 
into the casuals’ ward, and I was sent for im- 
mediately. They were mutilated past recog- 
nition, though care had evidently been taken 
to avoid mortal wounds. They were in the 
hospital for fully a year before recovering. 
Meanwhile all efforts of the police to discover 
their assailants were vain, the men them- 
selves keeping the most obstinate silence. 
On the hospital blotter, among the identifica- 
tion marks, were a newly healed scar on the 
one man’s calf and on the other man’s arm, 
a scar reaching from the wrist to the elbow. 


CHAPTER IV. 
Out Of His Class. 


It was shortly after my first visit to the 
house in the Lai Bazaar that a very curious 
case came under my observation which 
seemed to show that the gods were still alive 
and quite as difficult of comprehension as 
ever. It all came out of the trouble the 
monkey had with the crow. The crow was 
one of the usual big, bold ruffians that are 
conspicuous by their size and audacity all 
over the Indian Empire. Why they should 
have been deified by the Parsee is beyond 
conception, as they are probably the worst 
scalawags of their size in the country. This 
particular specimen was camping out one 
hot afternoon in the sal tree that shaded 
Marshall’s veranda. 

The monkey — Peter by name — was a little 
brown imp with a curly tail, the familiar of 
the bungalow and the despair of Abdulla Din, 
the chief cook and bottle-washer, whose prin- 
73 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

cipal duty was to keep him out of mischief. 

It was the habit of Peter, by the grace of 
Abdulla, to dine twice daily under the shady 
sal tree, and it was during these meals that 
he had learned to hate crow with an unholy 
hate. He could not nap for a moment dur- 
ing a meal but he was sure to wake with a 
start at the flapping of wings, just in time to 
see a great black thing whirring up into the 
tree. Of course his best bone was gone, and 
all that he could do would be to sit and pull 
faces and use doubtful language, while his 
enemy picked the bone with many a derisive 
“ caw.” 

Although Peter was game to the core, he 
realized after several encounters that he 
couldn’t afford to give away weight to the 
crows. Their beaks were too hard and sharp; 
they would swoop on him suddenly from 
behind, give one vicious dig and away ere he 
could turn and retaliate. So, though he was 
more than ready to tackle a cobra, or even a 
stray bandakoot if necessary, he began to 
look askance at the crows. 

On this particular afternoon Marshall was 
lying on his cot at the open window, a few 
yards from where Peter was discussing his 
74 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


supper. After a few mouthfuls of rice the 
monkey took up a tempting looking bone 
and dallied with it languidly for awhile, glanc- 
ing surreptitiously up into the tree mean- 
time. Then he sat, apparently thinking hard 
for a few moments. Marshall declares that 
he then turned and deliberately closed one 
eye in his direction but that probably is fic- 
tion — anyway, he laid the bone down and 
himself with it, his eyes closed drowsily, and 
in a moment to all seeming he was fast 
asleep. 

Of course, the crow up in the tree was 
waiting for this; yet he hesitated (possibly he 
had seen the monkey’s wink); then, contrary 
to his usual custom, he gave a loud chal- 
lenging “caw!” and an instant later another. 
These unusual demonstrations must have 
taxed Peter’s nerves considerably; but he re- 
mained immovable. The crow hopped to 
one of the lower branches and tried again; 
this failing to stir the monkey, the deified 
one lighted gingerly on the ground, eyeing 
the situation still suspiciously, with head 
cocked first this side, then that. 

The bone certainly was very close to the 
monkey, but — well Getting a sudden 


75 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


spasm of courage, he made a long, low, feet- 
forward dive at it. The same instant Peter 
dived, too, also feet forward and head held 
back well out of range. They met with a 
thud, and Peter, burying his four paws in the 
birds feathers, put all his pent up hatred into 
one vicious tug, then sprang back and away 
over the veranda railing, lighting on the cot 
beside Marshall, chattering and grinning and 
waving aloft the enemy’s feathers exultingly. 

His triumph was short lived, for the demoral- 
ized bird recovered and made a sudden dash 
for the window, bent on vengeance; but he 
halted at the sill on catching sight of Mar- 
shall, who, however, was so convulsed with 
laughter that he could not have interfered if 
he would. 

Peter, seeing his place of sanctuary invad- 
ed so boldly by the avenger, promptly turned 
tail and fled, dropping his trophies as he 
went. He reached the top of the door at the 
first scramble and then landed with a flying 
leap up among the rafters. His jump dis- 
turbed the dust, and something else. 

It fell straight and true to the nose of the 
laughing man below, changing his laughter 
to a howl of pain and anger. 

76 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

A boot went flying at the sacred one and 
some fluent vernacular at Peter, and then the 
man turned to find out what had hit him. 

“Hey, boy! Abdulla Din, I say! Hey! you 
son of an owl!” His nose was very painful. 
“Hither aow! Come here!” 

“Ache, sahib,” answered the Mahometan, 
entering on the instant and bowing at the 
door. 

“Here! What’s this, eh? Where did it 
come from, you rascal? What is it?” 

Did the man’s face stiffen slightly as his 
eyes fell on the object Marshall held? If so, 
his master did not remark it, but continued 
turning the thing over curiously. It was a 
small, dark ball, apparently of jade, and cov- 
ered with a delicate network of silver filigree; 
a pretty toy, if such it could be called. For- 
tunately, it had fallen from his nose to the 
cot instead of the floor, and so was uninjured. 

He looked up and straight into the khansa- 
mah’s eyes as the man answered his rough 
questioning, and a sudden feeling of distrust 
and repugnance took the place of his anger 
as the fellow spoke smoothly: 

‘•Sahib, I know not. I cannot rightly see; 

but if the sahib will show ” stretching out 

77 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


his hand. And then he paused, for the sahib 
was looking at him with a curling lip. 

For the space of ten seconds the two men 
stood, each weighing the other. And Peter 
sat above, watching them with an anxious 
face. Then Marshall spoke: 

“So? Then it does not matter. I will keep 
it and see if the police sahib knows of it, in 
case it is, as I suspect, stolen property. Now 
go.” 

That night a storm, the first of the mon- 
soons, blew up chill, and hearing Peter chat- 
tering and moaning on the veranda, Marshall 
opened the window and let him in, to the 
little fellow’s huge delight. He made him 
up a nest on the floor at the foot of the cot, and 
then turned in himself and soon was fast 
asleep. 

Just at that hour before dawn when the 
night is chilliest he woke with a start, aroused 
by a piercing shriek. 

“Ca hai! what is it? Who’s there?” he 
challenged, staring out into the dark room, 
while his hand groped for his revolver. There 
was no answer save the moans of the mon- 
key. He thought, on first starting up, he had 
seen something white melting from the foot 
78 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

of the bed toward the door; but, being half 
asleep, could not be sure. The monkey 
came limping to him for sympathy when he 
struck a light, and he saw that the little paw 
held up for his inspection was crushed and 
badly bruised, for all the world as if it had 
been trodden on. 

The next morning Peter’s attitude toward 
Abdulla was one of impotent malice. From 
one coign of vantage and another he chatter- 
ed and gibed and mowed, a picture of ner- 
vous hate. Marshall might have found food 
for reflection in this had he not been so en- 
grossed in his morning mail as to be obliv- 
ious to all else. There was an order from 
the surgeon general to proceed to Bombay 
by the night express and report immediately 
for emergency duty at the Byculla hospital. 
And so the luck began to work. 

That night Abdulla — having received his 
discharge with quiet indifference — also left for 
Bombay, herding with a crowd of low caste 
natives on the floor of a fourth-class carriage 
in the same train as his late master. He had 
shaved off his big, black beard, leaving only 
a fierce mustache. With this and one or two 
minor changes of costume the sfeek khansa- 
79 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


mah had vanished utterly, leaving in his 
place as truculent looking a border man as 
one would wish to see. 

It was during the journey to Bombay that 
Marshall discovered that the charm which 
had come to him so strangely possessed 
puzzling properties. He was toying with the 
trinket when he found that it unscrewed from 
the centre, and the interior revealed what at 
first he took to be a large diamond; but while 
examining it he noticed, to his astonishment, 
that it began to cloud, and then to clear, and 
then to cloud again as though from some 
inner pulse. Later he found by experiment 
that these pulses were in some subtle man- 
ner in direct sympathy with his own mental 
state while he held the stone. Again, he 
noted that the color of the stone changed 
upon occasion from clear crystal to blood red, 
and at these times the pulse grew fast — so 
fast that the interior seemed like an angry, 
boiling caldron, and he could not help no- 
ticing that at such times his own mentality 
was, from some cause, similarly disturbed. 
Not unnaturally, he arrived at the conclusion 
that the stone had in some manner been sen- 
sitized so as to take impressions from the 
80 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

nearest mental magnetism. And then, not 
being interested in psychic things, he put the 
charm away in an old cabinet, and in his 
waking hours, at least, forgot it. 

In his sleep, however, it was different. He 
seemed at this time to dream all the evil 
dreams that imagination could evolve, and 
the climax ever was the little jade case with 
its pulsing crystal, till he learned, when all 
escape seemed cut off and just before utter 
despair seized him, to look to the help which 
it brought always. 

He was clinging one night to a rock in a 
whirling storm of wind and rushing waters. 
A gull, swept before the howling gale, was 
caught, and it’s drowned body tossed high 
on the crest of a monster sea. The sky and 
the sea met before his eyes. He heard them 
roar and hiss at him. He knew the end was 
near, and yet he found himself listening; and 
his ear caught a bubbling sound beneath the 
din of surges, and as they closed over him 
they changed from slate to gold and then to 
crimson, and it was the inner pulse of the 
crystal and to its soothing lullaby he slept 
peacefully and without fear. 

Marshall was at the time of the transfer to 
81 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

Bombay just an Indian army assistant 
apothecary, drawing seventy-five rupees per 
month in an up country station. He was 
white, of English parents and a fine shot, 
otherwise in no way different from the thou- 
sands of others of the same ilk. His ambitions 
had been simply nil outside of his shikarri 
work; at that he had made a reputation sec- 
ond to none in the Empire. 

But once in Bombay he seemed to awaken 
suddenly. He became indefatigable. After 
his hospital work — and it was anything but 
light — he took up his medical studies where 
he had dropped them and read his way stead- 
ily up, passing his final exams, with infinite 
credit. Then he took up special lines in 
medical and civil service affairs. He devel- 
oped naturally. Yet he had unusual success. 
In five years he was a man whom people 
noted as a person of mark, and other men 
of achievement began to seek him out and to 
show their appreciation of his ability. 

It was about this time that Slape and he 
met — at some scientific society, I believe — 
and, discovering that they had interests in 
common, they joined forces in chemical 
problems that both were investigating. Later 
82 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

Mirza and I met him and we fraternized. So 
it happened that one evening we were smok- 
ing in his comfortable library. We had not 
been there long when Slape turned up — he al- 
ways does when there’s anything good on. 

He was chock-full of a new experiment, as 
usual, and for the next half hour the air grew 
heavy with chemical symbols such as: “Yes, 
I got the salt from H2S04xBa”02H2=BaS04 
X2OH2.” 

“Ah, yes! I see; your acid reacting on the 
base.” 

Then they argued as to the basic or acid 
character of the properties of the oxides of 
an element, Marshall holding up his end of 
the argument in a fashion that inspired re- 
spect. 

It must have been fearfully dry work for 
Mirza; but he sat smoking with a face full of 
apparent interest, and even seemed disap- 
pointed when I howled at the men to shut 
up and give us a chance.” 

Marshall laughed and went to the sideboard, 
saying: “Here, you chaps! Here’s a thing I 
want you to see, and I’ll bet it’s a chemical 
problem that even Dicky here can’t solve.” 
And he rolled the little jade ball on the table. 
83 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


I took the thing up first and examined it 
curiously, then as our host called out “Twist 
it, Sutton!" I twisted, and, opening the case, 
saw the strange stone. I gave a gasp as the 
others bent over me. “A diamond! Here, 
you fellows! Don’t breathe on it. Confound 
you, I can’t see it!” And while I tried to rub 
the mist away, Marshall chuckled and finally 
burst into a roar as he saw my blank face 
when I failed. 

Then we heard the story of how he had 
got the stone, and, suspecting his servant, had 
gone to the police, but had failed to hear 
anything of its owner, and so finally had kept 
it until he had grown attached to it. 

While he was talking Slape was studying 
the crystal carefully, sometimes bending 
down over it as if to hide it from the rest of 
us. When Marshall finished, he asked ab- 
ruptly: “After you got it, what happened?” 

Marshall looked puzzled a moment. “Hap- 
pened?” he echoed at length. “I don’t quite 
understand. Nothing that I recollect. I came 
to Bombay the next night, if I remember 
rightly.” 

“So! You were in tne subordinate med- 
ical department then, with no ambitions and 
84 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


no prospects, eh?” Marshall nodded, evident- 
ly wondering what he was driving at. “And 
now," continued Dick, “I call on these two 
chaps to witness there’s not a fellow in the 
department that’s not either proud or jealous 
of you. You’ve risen from a rank outsider — 
no offense, more honor to you — to be a 
house surgeon to your own college hospital; 
you’ve written a book on Thanatophidia that 
bids fair to be our college textbook; it’s cer- 
tainly opened my eyes about snake bites, 
though where on earth you got your data 
beats me altogether. You’ve got this far in 
five years, with no favor, and the promise is 
that in five more you’ll be one of the biggest 
medical guns in the country or ” 

“Well?” questioned his host, seeing he had 
stopped suddenly. 

“Never mind, old man; but remember 
your luck began the day you found this thing. 
Take care you don’t lose it. There’s many a 
man would sell his soul for the bare chance 
of stealing it; and they wouldn’t be all natives 
either. And remember another thing. It’s 
the fashion nowadays to steal such things, so 
don’t trust anybody. You can’t tell what’s 
slumbering down in your best friend’s soul.” 
85 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


He spoke so solemnly that we were all a 
tittle startled. Mirza was the first to break 
the rather awkward silence. 

“What is it, Dick?” 

Dick handed him the stone, that was puls- 
ing like a living thing. I saw Mirza ’s dark 
face pale as it lay in his hands, then his lips 
moved slightly, and he walked over the room 
to Marshall, handing him the crystal, and 
saying as he bowed gravely: 

“You will pardon me for adding my word 
to his. He is right. I, as you know, am 
supposed to be rich. I am a Rajput prince, 
heir to one of the oldest thrones in the world 
— an exile, it is true, but still envied by most. 
I love my life and the ways of it, yet I tell 
you that I would willingly give up all — my 
name and my hopes and my power — to 
stand alone and naked in the world with only 
that in the palm of my hand.” He paused 
and looked earnestly at Marshall for a mo- 
ment. Then he added: “You cannot under- 
stand these things. Your temperament is 
not quite as ours. But it does not matter so 
long as you keep your charm. You will fill 
up the measure of your possibilities what- 
ever they may be; more no man can do, 
86 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

though his stars work ever so strongly.” 

Just how much impressed Marshall was by 
all this I couldn’t tell. For my part I always 
had thought Mirza and Slape were a bit too 
eager on such things to be quite trustworthy, 
and Marshall hardly can be blamed for think- 
ing the same. Probably he realized how 
hard he had worked for success, and to have 
the credit given to a trumpery external pos- 
session must have been trying. 

Slape told me afterward that it was a divin- 
ing glass of the rarest kind, infinitely superior 
to the great crystal of Narda, the Egyptian; 
and that there was a wonderful future before 
Marshall if he only held on to it. 

A year later Marshall volunteered for the 
front in the last Afghan trouble and there 
won the Victoria Cross for conspicuous brav- 
ery under fire. Later he was promoted to 
acting surgeon major, and at this time Slape 
received a letter and a package from him. 
The package contained the jade ball in a 
little leather case, and the letter said that as 
Slape thought the trinket valuable he had 
inclosed it for his care, as the fighting was 
pretty rough and he might go under and 
lose it; and, besides, he was tired of thinking 
8 7 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

that possibly he owed his success to anything 
but his own efforts, and so he intended to 
show his friends that he could float alone. 

Slape showed me the letter and then made 
me go with him to the safety deposit vaults 
and see the case locked in a fire and thief 
proof cell. As he turned away he said ab- 
ruptly, “Now, watch out!” 

In the next report from the front we read, 
“Acting Surgeon Major Marshall badly wound- 
ed.” Then followed a glowing account of the 
work of a sepoy who had brought the doctor 
in under fire, saving his life and getting him 
safely back to the rear. 

“See how it works?” growled Slape. But 
for the life of me I couldn’t; the luck was as 
good in saving him as it was bad in getting 
him bowled over. Besides, I was sick of 
Slape’s harping on “luck.” If ever a man 
earned his spurs worthily it was Marshall. 

He came down on sick leave. He had had 
a pretty close call. An Afghan knife had 
carved his helmet and then, fortunately, had 
slipped on his skull, leaving, nevertheless, an 
ugly scalp wound and jarring the brain, so 
that he dropped as though he had been shot 
in his tracks. Fever and exposure had done 
88 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

the rest, and he contemplated a long rest be- 
fore he got in harness again. 

He had brought with him the man who 
had saved his life, and to our astonishment 
we heard that it was Abdulla Din, his old 
khansamah. He had enlisted at the begin- 
ning of the trouble, and, strangely enough, 
had been in the same skirmish with his old 
master. I saw him the first day I called and 
was anything but favorably impressed. Still, 
it’s pretty hard to diagnose an Afghan. 

Slape returned the crystal at the first op- 
portunity and tried to point a moral from the 
wound; but I don’t think he succeeded well, 
as his temper was short for some time after 
when we referred to Marshall. 

Of course, the man with the Victoria Cross 
was a big man indeed, and for a while, after 
he got stronger, we lost sight of him in the 
social whirl. Then the news of his engage- 
ment to a certain commissioner’s daughter 
nearly took our breath away. She was a star 
in the firmament of Viceregal society, and 
her dot was mentioned with a breath of awe. 
“See how it works?” said Slape, and I did be- 
gin to waver. 

Soon after the announcement we saw her. 

89 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


It was at the engagement ball, and she wore 
at her waist a curious little jade ball, artisti- 
cally netted with silver filigree. It was a pretty 
ornament and much admired by the guests 
who noticed it. 

That was the beginning of the end. Two 
days afterward Abdulla Din, Marshall’s trust- 
ed bearer, called with a note purporting to 
come from his master and delivered the 
same with many salaams to the girl. The 
note was a clever forgery, and he received in 
return for it a little sealed packet, with many 
injunctions to be careful not to lose it. He 
was most careful — so careful, in fact, that it’s 
doubtful if he has lost it yet, though certainly 
he has given us no chance to question him 
on the subject, for he vanished as only a na- 
tive can in the burrows of an Indian city. 

At once Marshall changed noticeably. He 
complained of his head a great deal and grew 
morose and irritable. The wedding was put 
off till he grew better, and then suddenly he 
disappeared — vanished as utterly as Abdulla 
had done. We found his house empty and 
his servants gone. Knowing the state of the 
man’s health, we used every means in our 
power to find him, the Commissioner spend- 
90 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


ing his money freely; but all with no result. 
Of course, Slape said “I told you so.” 

Two years later I was a casual visitor in 
the house of a big railway official at Agra. I 
was passing on a hunting trip and he kindly 
entertained me during my stay in the city. 
We were sitting on the veranda, smoking and 
yarning one hot evening, when a coolie en- 
tered the compound and inquired for Sutton 
Sahib. I answered him, and to my surprise 
he handed me a rather soiled looking note, 
waiting while I read it. It said: 

“Dear Sutton — If you have not quite for- 
gotten an old friend, come at once. Follow 
the bearer. If you care to come, do not de- 
lay. My time is almost up. 

“Yours of old, 

“P. MARSHALL.” 

I stared at the thing in amaze. Then I 
made an incoherent excuse to my astonished 
host and left the grounds. 

In an old hut on the outskirts of the bazaar 
I found him. A native woman was crying at 
the foot of the charpie on which he lay. I 
took in the whole thing at a glance and un- 
derstood. I had seen cases before, but none 
of them ever had come home to me like this. 

9i 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


He was lying there an utter wreck. Gone 
native. Run amuck. Dying in a hut outside 
an old cow byre. I did what I could, but it 
was all too little, and when the early dawn 
came creeping in he whispered a faint good- 
by, touching gently the hair of the weeping 
woman before he died. She ran out shriek- 
ing and flung herself down among the sleep- 
ing buffalo, tearing her hair and beating her 
breasts, after the manner of her kind. 

The broken man sobbed out his pitiful 
story in my arms that night before he went. 
He had grown to believe in the potency of 
the crystal, despite an incredulous tempera- 
ment. Then when his success came he grew 
jealous of its supposed help and so sent it 
away from the front. The wound that he 
got after that frightened him but made him 
dogged, too, to stand alone, so later he gave 
it to the girl as a kind of half measure. When 
it was stolen he imputed his weakness and 
lack of mental power to the loss instead of 
the wound. He got nervous with thinking 
and fearing, he knew not what. What he 
must have suffered before he ran — for he was 
a brave man — God only knows. He asked 
me pitifully before he went if it were true; if 
92 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

what he had done didn’t count; if it was all 
due to the crystal. And I, though truly I was 
much troubled and utterly perplexed, an- 
swered boldly, “Bosh!"; that if he had not 
had the brains Heaven itself could not have 
produced the results. And I think that’s true, 
yet . 


CHAPTER V. 


The Jadoo Maker. 


One night about two years after poor Mar- 
shall’s death, there came a knock at my door 
and to my astonishment the boy announced 
“Eshlape Sahib,” and in he walked. To say 
I was astonished doesn’t half express it. I had 
thought he was settled in London where he 
had gone the previous year and his last letter 
had said nothing to the contrary, but it seems 
he got weary of “its gritty pavements” and 
the girl’s people being out here too, there 
was no difficulty, so he packed up and came 
back as many another has longed to do. I 
couldn’t understand it then but now — ah well, 
perhaps some day — but that’s a digression. 

So our old times began again with this 
difference, that many of our evenings were 
spent in the house in the Lai Bazaar. I own 
I always made one of the party with some 
shrinking though I certainly enjoyed myself, 
once under the charm of Narda’s hospitality. 
94 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

Hey day! what a woman she was and how 
she understood men! I think we were all 
more or less under the influence of her 
charm, and many a happy evening we passed 
discussing verily everything under the sun. 
Nevertheless when those things which seem- 
ed to delight Mirza and Slape came up — those 
un-understandable things — as they naturally 
did often, the night was spoiled for me; that 
terrible figure of the ghostly fakir would rise 
up and then when I went to bed, dreams 
would come and finally I got irritable about 
it and refused to go there any more. 

Perhaps there were other reasons but I 
steadily ignored them if there were, and it 
doesn’t matter anyway. 

Now I have always held — our scientists to 
the contrary notwithstanding — that there is 
such a thing as knowing too much — as grow- 
ing bigger than your God, but I doubt if it 
pays. Let it be clearly understood that I am 
not referring to Narda, for as far as I can 
judge she used her knowledge wisely, as her 
lights went. For me — even though I had 
ceased to visit her — she stands exempt from 
criticism. She was always a law unto her- 
self, and I, well I’m a plain man and beyond 
95 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


surgery and a little medicine not very wise. 

But others there are who have strange 
knowledge also, whose ways are dark and 
devious and whose end is always — mark me 
— always, sudden. 

Such a man was Bizam Tak, the jadoo 
maker. He had not only outgrown his God, 
but become a devil, the better to mock him, 
and his brethren in Rajana took his name on 
their lips with awe, and their wives used it 
to frighten the httle ones. Even at the couri 
of the Raja his fame was great, and he 
might have held high office there; but who, 
bowing not to God, should bow to kings? So 
he lived aloof — none rightly knew where — 
and worked his wizardries. And the fame of 
his wonders had reached even me, for if the 
curry soured or the rice boiled hard, Boir 
Mas, my general factotum, would mutter the 
name of Tak, coupled with a malediction, 
deep down in his great black beard. 

I think that even Narda stood a little in 
awe of him, and she once said that his power 
for evil was greater than hers; but, then, she 
never worked evil, and, despite her great 
knowledge, she walked with the God she 
knew, humbly, as a little child. 

96 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

Now, Ager Mirza was a dauntless man 
before men. I have seen him face death 
with the smoke from his cigarette floating in 
a lazy, unbroken stream between his lips. I 
saw him open a box, and, as he lifted the lid, 
a cobra sprang with a hissing rush at his 
throat. It missed the flesh, and the next 
moment the man’s slim brown fingers were 
twisted round the reptile’s neck and he was 
blowing the cigarette smoke into the angry 
snake’s jaws, remarking quietly that it was 
another present from his friends who loved 
him. 

Six months hardly ever passed without an 
attempt being made on the man’s life, some 
subtle as the wisdom of a cobra, others as 
brutal as the hate that inspired them; for 
they had long ago divined at the court of 
Materdas that the British Government was 
holding him as a whip over them, and that a 
change of policy might make the powers at 
Calcutta recognize Prince Ager’s claim to the 
throne openly. Then to resist would be im- 
possible. So it came to pass that many plans 
had been made by those whom Mirza called 
“his friends in Materdas.” 

All through the strain of such a life Prince 
97 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


Ager had passed on his way gay and smiling, 
probably the best-loved and best-hated man 
in the empire — certainly the most remarked. 
Yet this man of steel suddenly fell, and his 
fall was as mysterious as it was pitiable. I 
saw him at the races one afternoon a jovial, 
gallant, light-hearted gentleman, and three 
days later, keeping a dinner engagement 
with him, I found a nervous, distraught man, 
who started like a frightened child at his own 
shadow. 

He told me the trouble after dinner, sitting 
in a glare of hot lamps in the library, instead 
of out on the cool veranda. It was Bizam 
Tak. 

I’m afraid I laughed, but his hurt look sob- 
ered me, and I argued the matter out with 
him; but it was all no use. Narda knew; she 
had told him, and the shadow was with him 
always. What shadow? Ah, I could not un- 
derstand these things, and so on. Of course 
I couldn’t, but I sent him a tonic, which he 
threw out of the window promptly; and which 
Selim, the dog boy, seized and drank with 
much gusto. 

We had a rush of fever at the hospital at 
this time, and I was kept at it night and day, 
98 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

and couldn’t see anything of the man; but I 
knew Slape was in town and looking after 
him, and I expected each day to see the pair 
of them lolling in my den when I got out of 
the wards. 

It was ten days before I heard anything; 
then Slape turned up alone, and I knew some- 
thing was wrong the moment I saw his face. 
His first words confirmed me. 

“Have you seen him?” 

“Seen whom?” 

“Mirza, man; Mirza.” 

“Seen him? I? No. Is he lost?” 

“Lost? Yes, that’s just it. He is lost.” 

“Oh, get out; you’re joking.” 

“Joking be damned! Listen man. He’s 
been ill all week. That cursed Rajput devil 
was marking him as sure as fate. I stayed 
with him four nights, but had to leave yester- 
day afternoon. I was back by nine o’clock, 
and the man was gone — gone, and none of 
his people knew he was out of his room." 

“Well, but he might have had business 
or ” 

“Man, I tell you he was so weak he could 
hardly stagger across the room. ’ 

That settled me, and I stared in blank 
99 


l L.ofC. 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


amazement while Slape rattled on: “I’m afraid 
he’s off mentally. He acted strangely once 
or twice while I was with him, and now God 
knows where he’ll bring up. If that devil 
gets him up to Materdas they’ll murder him 
to a certainty. Narda said that the Bizam’s 
people were at the back of this business, as 
usual, and it certainly looks as if they would 
succeed this time.” 

“And you actually believe this Bizam — 
what’s his name ? — has put a spell on him?” I 
asked, for the whole thing seemed beyond 
belief, even in a country like India. 

“ Believe it ? Certainly I do, and it’s not so 
uncommon as you seem to think, only your 
friends and mine are usually exempt.” 

Seeing Slape’s state of mind I said no more. 
It was useless, anyway. The thing to be 
done was to find the man, and from all tokens 
we’d have our hands full doing it. When a 
man like Mirza, half native as he is, steps out 
of his class and into the bazaars for any cause 
whatever he’s hidden as safely as though the 
earth had swallowed him. A curtain, jealous- 
ly guarded on the one side, hangs between 
the races, white and brown, and behind that 
curtain lies sanctuary for him who has a 
ioo 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

right to it. His brother who has aught against 
him as a man may stab him behind the cur- 
tain, but never will betray him to the “accur- 
sed” beyond the veil. 

Besides this, we were denied what little as- 
sistance we might have had from the police, 
as long ago our word had been given to the 
missing man never under any pretext to in- 
troduce them into his affairs, so jealously did 
he guard the many secrets of his life. So, 
with this forlorn outlook, I was not so averse 
as I might have been (I hate messing with 
things I don’t understand) to Slape’s proposal 
that we go to Narda’s house, in the Lai 
Bazaar, and the late evening found us stumb- 
ling through the ill-lighted and often evil- 
smelling byways of the Boree Bazaar. Every 
white man reviles these noisome native 
haunts, with their high blank walls and low- 
arched doorways, with their steaming buffalo 
and fetid cow byres, where the fierce rush of 
a snarling bandakoot makes one spring aside 
with a mouthful of nervous curses — every 
one reviles them; yet, yet — ask the man 
who’s left it all what particular thing it is that 
pulls his heartstrings as he tramps the Lon- 
don pavements, and he’ll tell you, if he’s 

IOI 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


honest, it’s those evil, smelly bazaars with all 
their possibilities of wickedness. What if the 
walls are blank and high and the great rats 
scurry beneath? Sometimes — not too often 
— windows open, and maybe a spray of jas- 
mine falls. For a brief moment the veil of 
the unknown is drawn aside and the banda- 
koots are forgotten. What more would you, 
London, New York? Bah! They have no 
unknown. 

So we came to the gate in the wall that 
leads to the place of Narda. She was pacing 
back and forth like a caged tigress when we 
lifted the purdah but she welcomed us both 
with a hand, saying as she drew us in: “You 
are late, my friends. Or is it that I am im- 
patient?” 

“You expected us, then?” asked Slape. 

“Yes. There is much to do. He must be 
found to-night or ” 

“You do not know where he is, then?” 

“No, but I will find him.” 

“Suppose he ” 

“Yes, I know. Still I will find him — and 
avenge him.” 

She rose to her full height as she spoke — a 
tall, queenly figure; and as she did so a glit- 


102 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

tering movement in her dark hair caught my 
eye, and there, among all the strange orna- 
ments, was curled a little serpent — the em- 
blem of her strange power. Then we knew 
that she had come out like a strong man 
armed, and, looking in her eyes, I saw that 
which made me glad that my account with 
our missing friend was clean. 

Slape asked. her if she could not find him 
with the great crystal that still stood pulsing 
in the centre of the room; but she said, “No”; 
that the jadoo was too strong for the crystal; 
and it would no longer work true; but she 
had another and a higher way, and we must 
help her. And we gave our words as men 
to stand by her that night, whatever came; 
for, after all, she was a woman — a beautiful 
one — and seemed in dire trouble, despite her 
brave front, as one who had lifted a heavier 
burden than she could carry. a 

On one of the walls facing the north hung 
a large shining disk, on which vibrated a 
slender gold hand, and while the woman 
waited and talked she watched this hand con- 
tinually. At last it slipped and fell with a 
ringing, musical slur, and we saw that it had 
stopped at one of the zodiacal signs that 
103 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


ringed the disk. Then Narda rose slowly. 

••The hour has fallen. May the gods sus- 
tain us now, for the door is shut and the 
issue is in their hands. Still, we know, each 
in our own way, that Good is greater than 
Evil. You know how to use your strength, 
Mr. Slape; and you, doctor” — turning to me 
— “I need your help in your own way. Do 
not try to understand anything you see to- 
night, but trust me a moment now and re- 
member what I say.” 

She put her long brown fingers to my fore- 
head, lifting my head by the action, till I was 
looking up into her dark, grave eyes. At 
the touch of her fingers a heaviness, a men- 
tal sluggishness, born of the strain of over- 
work, cleared away, leaving my brain fresh 
and clear, and her words sounded like bell 
notes ringing through it. 

"Now listen. Set your mind, firm and fast, 
on the God your mother taught you, and 
whatever you see or hear in this room to- 
night trust Him, like a little child, to bring 
His way to pass. That is all. You under- 
stand?” 

She left me then and busied herself with 
her strange preparations for the test of her 
104 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


powers. I may say before I go further that 
those words, “Trust Him like a little child,” 
never for an instant left me through the scene 
that followed; while my flesh crept and my 
throat contracted with an agony of fear, ever 
back of my brain, staying me, ran the words, 
like a rhythmic silver chime, “Trust Him like 
a little child.” 

Narda made her arrangements, strange as 
they were, quickly and deftly. They con- 
sisted chiefly in the placing of tiny lights in 
various positions, till they took the form of a 
great scorpion, the zodiacal home of mystic 
power. These lights showed little more than 
tiny bright sparks, which were reflected back 
and forth in bewildering fashion by crystal 
reflectors set at intervals. At the lower end, 
or tail, of the scorpion Narda stood motion- 
less for some minutes over a strangely form- 
ed brazier, like a great chafing dish. Into 
this I saw her pour oil and water and several 
powders, but, I am ready to swear, set no 
light. 

She passed swiftly round the room, putting 
out all the lamps save those of the sign, so 
that the curious emblem of good and evil 
stood out like a sparkling living thing, while 
105 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


all around the shadows hung heavy and seem- 
ed to crawl forward, only to be driven back 
by the sharp flashing of the crystals. 

We watched Narda moving in the shadows, 
her long white draperies dim and indistinct; 
saw her shapely arms raised and moving 
now this way, now that, but of voice there 
was none. 

Again came the slurring chime of the disk 
hand, and we saw that it held in the “House 
of Scorpio.” At the sound Narda turned ab- 
ruptly and seated herself in the big cushioned 
chair that stood isolated on its glass castors 
at the head of the flashing sign. We could 
see her dimly and watched her long. We 
saw her white-robed bosom rise and fall 
rhythmically till she seemed to sleep; but the 
serpent in her hair stood alert, poised and 
vibrating, its slim head darting restlessly from 
side to side. 

How long we sat I do not know, but to my 
tense nerves at least the time and the silence 
seemed alike intolerable. There was no 
movement, no sound save the occasional slur 
of the hand on the disk, and this seemed to 
jar the whole room, so* intense was the pre- 
vious silence. The silence held till the sheer 
106 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


monotony of the thing quieted our nerves, 
and I at least grew drowsy as I sat. I believe 
my head nodded and my body lurched once 
and then again; then something horrible 
came and mixed with my half-dreaming mind, 
and in an instant I was awake and straining 
every nerve, while Slape gripped my wrist till 
the hand hung limp and numb with the pres- 
sure. Then it came again, a whimpering cry, 
as of a little child wailing just beyond the 
light. 

I had often heard of the “child cry” used 
in the native magic, and had been at a loss 
to account for it; but now, when I heard the 
lonely sound sobbing itself out in the shad- 
ows, like a baby soul shut out of heaven and 
forgotten, I realized the power of the thing 
for horror. The sound seemed to come from 
the brazier, and as we bent forward, gazing 
eagerly, we saw something in that brazier 
that was not there before — something vague, 
that moved and flopped helplessly around; 
and then again came the whimpering cry. 

The cry had hardly died away when the 
brazier began to glow and fumes and smoke 
arose from it; then red fire, that seethed and 
twisted sluggishly, and in the fire a Thing 
107 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


that moved and moaned, as if in pain, and 
then half-crawled out; but the fire rose and 
licked at it, and it fell back with a little shriek, 
and the fire rolled smoothly over it. 

Now, whether the room really grew chill 
or it was the horror of that fiery, slimy pot I 
cannot say, but we two strong men were 
shivering -as with ague, the cold cut to the 
bone even while the great sweat drops rolled 
from us. And through all this Narda sat and 
gave no sign, but the serpent was poised, as 
if to strike. 

Then Slape rose and shook himself fierce- 
ly, and I heard him swearing softly in his 
throat as he crept cautiously toward the glow- 
ing pot. I followed and leaned over him as 
he bent to peer at the hot, fuming mass. 
And while we looked a scarlet cinder de- 
tached itself and leaped clear, landing on the 
polished floor and rolling quickly away, 
scorching the boards as it went. It did not 
die out, but kept its scarlet heart burning 
brightly, and directly in its course lay the 
piled-up rugs and pillows that Narda used. 

Seeing the danger of them catching fire, 
Slape sprang across the lights and out of the 
sign that had in a way shut us in before. 

108 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

With three long strides he had reached the 
rugs, and I saw his form loom up in the 
dusk beyond the rolling cylinder, saw his 
foot rise and fall upon it, and then there 
came a cry from him, and from the floor at 
his feet a tongue of flame leaped up in a 
sinuous, twisting flash, and seemed to lick 
him as he fell back. 

And as the flash of the flame died away 
there came a hoarse, brutal laugh, so malig- 
nant, jeering and horrible that I dropped 
back with a shudder, grasping the great pil- 
lows in an agony of fear. 

To my dying day I know I shall not forget 
it. In the daylight it is weak, and I am a 
man; but at night, even while dreaming 
pleasant things, there seems to fall a sudden 
hush and I catch myself listening and won- 
dering uneasily and then, far off, back of the 
sunshine it starts. I cannot even hear it but 
I know it is coming and shiver and strain my 
ears even as I smile at my friends. They too 
grow uneasy, glance askance at me and melt 
away. The sun fades down and then borne 
on the first breath of a chilling wind it comes, 
at first faint and thin, then growing louder 
and stronger, rushing down the wind upon 
109 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


me. And I — I cannot move — can barely 
breathe. I feel for one brief instant the touch 
of the clammy horror overwhelming me and 
then — ah God, I wake! Wake with the sweat 
of fear on my brow, with my body in an ague, 
and worst of all, with the knowledge that I 
am a coward; one who dare not face the 
night, must burn a lamp forsooth, like a little 
frightened child. 

Just what followed that laugh I cannot 
rightly say, only that I lay there among the 
pillows staring out with wide, strained eye- 
balls. The room was full of sulphurous 
smoke, and just out there in the shadows 
was my friend, probably hurt, for he had 
given no sign after that first cry — possibly 
dead — and yet I lay there, afraid to go and 
see. 

The smoke in the room grew thicker, and 
heaved and tossed as if stirred by a mighty 
wind, and out of it came voices and sullen 
mutterings in words I could not understand. 
Then a voice, harsh and jeering as the laugh, 
spoke words, again strange, but challenging, 
insulting. And as the words died away I 
heard a stir of drapery and Narda crossed 
the sign before my eyes and passed beyond, 
no 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

out into the smoke. And it swallowed her 
up so that I could not so much as see her 
robe, but I saw the smoke bank and heave 
and writhe and twist, and soon it drew away 
and seemed to concentrate in one great mass; 
and as it did so I saw her for a moment fac- 
ing the blackness and throwing out her arms 
forbiddingly toward it. But the mass grew 
blacker and its convolutions more and more 
rapid, and then the thing took a certain shape 
and form — a huge head, with toothless jaws 
and malignant eyes. 

And this embodiment of the blackness 
drew close upon the woman, breathing hotly 
on her. For a moment she stood her ground, 
but the thing grew upon her, seeming to 
smother her, and back she fell, step by step, 
toward the lighted sign. She had just reach- 
ed the first light of the scorpion’s tail when 
the thing made a rush. Two long, hairy 
arms, with gnarled fingers on the horny 
hands, darted toward her, grasping her throat. 

After the long horror the end came quickly. 
Ere the black quite touched the white some- 
thing flashed in the strange yellow light — 
flashed in a long, hissing streak — and the 
serpent drew back and the bony hands fell 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 


away, while the smoke fairly boiled as it rose 
and fell, twisted, curled and writhed, and 
grew less and yet still less. 

And oh! I think it was the worst of all to 
watch that dumb agony, to feel the shrieks that 
you could not hear, and see the fearful thing 
grow smaller and smaller, till there was only 
a little smoky bubble left; and then, like a 
bubble, that, too, burst, and all was still. But 
as our awe-struck eyes followed the faint 
trail of the last dim wreath there came upon 
the quiet room a sigh, so deep, so mournful 
that it seemed as though nature’s heart were 
rent in twain. 

Narda was bending over Slape who lay 
on the pillows, where he had fallen, touching 
him gently and lightly and speaking to him 
as he gradually came back to consciousness. 
As I came up she pointed to his forehead, 
and I saw an angry, red wound, as from a 
bad burn. And even as I looked Slape 
roused and spoke to us, and, looking around 
curiously, asked, “Hasn’t he come yet?” 

I would have questioned him, but Narda 
silenced me with a look as she asked, “Where 
did you leave him?” 

“At the gate in the wall, of course, as you 
1 12 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

told me. He ought to be here now. Ah!” 

There came a low knock at the bolted door, 
and Narda took up the lamp, and, opening it, 
drew back the purdah. A man, dressed like 
a coolie, stood at the lintel, dirty and un- 
shaved; but she drew him in, and, drawing 
him close, kissed his forehead. It was His 
Highness Prince Ager Mirza. 

Of the man’s wanderings we could learn 
nothing; his mind was blank about it. The 
only thing he remembered was hearing the 
voice of Narda calling to him from a long 
way off, and he wanted to go to her, but 
could not find the way till Slape came and 
brought him to the gate in the wall that he 
knew so well. 

And as I lay on my cot in the cool gray 
dawn, smoking and puzzling over the things 
that I had just seen, another new puzzle rose 
in my brain and put to flight all the rest — why 
did Narda kiss Mirza? 

The news of the death of Bizam Tak came 
by word of mouth to the native bazaars two 
days later. Rumors differed — he had been 
in a trance; he had been drunk; he had 
merely slept; but he had died in the night, 
and, as they all agreed, from the bite of a 
1 13 


THE WAY OF THE GODS. 

snake, for its fangs had left two little purple 
spots in his throat. 

Now here endeth the Chronicles of Mirza, 
for when a man has passed his prime it is 
meet that he should step aside and make 
place for another that is stronger than he. 
And I too, am growing old and all those 
happy days with Prince A1 Raschid are past 
and gone and live with me in memory only, 
excepting when I dream. 

Of course Mirza and Narda followed their 
fate, and the house in the Lai Bazaar knew 
the woman no more. They have spoken of 
visiting me here in London — in Holborn. Ye 
Gods! Fancy Mr. and Mrs. and Master A1 
Raschid sitting down to that shabby mahog- 
any! Think of my trotting them round to 
the Music Halls. No, no! It won’t do, I’ll 
keep my ideals. I know the Prince is old 
and fat and bald and Narda — Well there, the 
fire is out and my pipe, and I’d rather dream 
than think to-night. ' 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


Of course I was at a disadvantage from the 
start, and still remain so, as I’m not a pro- 
fessional fighter; and then again I was very 
young, and the thing came so suddenly, like 
lightning out of a clear sky. I confess that I 
got rattled and I’m afraid I ran a bit amuck; 
a pretty easy thing to do under a hot sun, 
and not to be too severely criticised. On this 
I can speak with professional authority. 

It was just toward the end of that last little 
Afghan misunderstanding, when Ayub Khan 
was letting us know a thing or two, and we 
were beginning to prove more apt scholars 
than he fancied. Dicky Slape and I were up 
from Bombay doing volunteer work with the 
hospital corps. We were attached to a big 
horse battery — the Ninth Irish, if I remember 
rightly — and the half of a native light moun- 
tain battery to fill up. Besides our “Tom- 
mies,” we had some two thousand Sepoys, 
picked fighters every man of them; and I 
1 17 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


know we thought that we were just about 
good enough for^ anything that was floating 
round looking for trouble. 

As to where we were going or what we 
were doing, I give it up. We would march 
two days to the north, over hills and nullahs, 
break our way through miles of dense jungle, 
drag the guns through dried-up water courses 
under a sweltering sun, and finally circle 
round east or west and go back again. 

I suppose the Colonel knew what he was 
about, as he had wig-wag men out on the 
hills continually, but I’ll be hanged if I believe 
another soul knew even where we were. Of 
course there were various rumors in the 
air, the most plausible of which was that we 
were bottling up a big tribe of Hillsmen who 
wanted to join our friend Ayub. 

Naturally the temper of the battery wasn’t 
exactly angelic; dragging those twelve-horse 
guns over almost impassable country and 
then dragging them back again — and ap- 
parently all for no purpose — was hardly likely 
to be productive of an exemplary spirit and 
conversation, even had the Ninth been built 
that way. So the hills resounded with the 
crack of whips puncturing fierce, blood-curd- 
1 1 8 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


ling oaths and the clang of iron-shod gun- 
wheels as they bounded and crashed along 
the rocky route, while occasionally the harsh 
scream of a refractory baggage camel would 
add to the pandemonium. 

Dicky and I thought that we were abused 
by being stuck on to the tail of such an un- 
satisfactory expedition as this, when there 
were such lively times ’way ahead at the 
front. We had no patients in the hospital, 
and dispensing did not take up more than a 
couple of hours a day, but the dreary mo- 
notony of the thing fairly broke our hearts; 
and added to this was the fear that all the fun 
would be over and we would be sent back to 
Bombay without either of us seeing a scrap. 
We had heard firing several times while we 
lay in reserve, and after the affair was over 
had been rushed up front to aid the hospital 
staff there, and then, before another shot was 
fired, we were sent back to our “Royal Irish 
Stick-in-the-Muds,” as we dubbed them. 

At last it came, however, and I think we 
both got enough to last us for the rest of our 
lives. 

We had come into camp early one Sunday 
morning after one of our usual fruitless 
n 9 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


prowls. Away, and on the side of the camp 
furthest from the hospital tents, were some 
foothills that ran up and back to what I have 
since learned was a spur of the Hala Moun- 
tains. To the left of these foothills and 
directly behind the camp the guns were 
parked. Discipline had grown somewhat lax, 
especially on Sundays, and it was customary 
for the various battery champions to engage 
in bare knuckle fights, a form of amusement 
much in favor with Thomas Atkins. 

A quiet spot would be chosen, well out of 
range of the provost and the guardhouse 
tent, when the two would strip, and amid the 
cheers of their several factions proceed to 
pummel each other beyond recognition. The 
prize in these encounters was rarely more 
than a few quarts of porter, and as often as 
not they were indulged in for pure Irish love 
of a scrap. 

Now, I had attended one or two of these 
little interviews, and as my leather medicine 
case usually contained a flask of whiskey I 
was made welcome. On this particular Sun- 
day morning I was given the tip that quite 
the most important meeting of the season 
was to take place that afternoon between Ted 


120 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


McGann and “Scrapper” Foley, both battery 
drivers. The men had each fought all 
comers and neither had been beaten, and 
now they were to come together themselves, 
and a battle royal was expected. 

I knew McGann well; a big, muscular, Irish 
giant, who on occasions could swear the 
whole battery to a standstill; as good-natured 
a ruffian as ever strode a horse, and I certain- 
ly could not see where the other fellow came 
in at all. 

I tried to get Dickey to come along, but he 
said we were a lot of blankety blank brutes, 
etc., so I saddled my pony and rode off by 
myself. It was a long ride, through a thick 
patch of jungle, then out over the plain for a 
couple of miles to the foothills. I had had 
the direction pointed out to me, and expected 
to have no difficulty in finding the way; but I 
suppose I must have been late in starting. 
Anyway, I failed to meet any of the men 
going out, and must have gone considerably 
out of my way before I finally saw the crowd. 
They were gathered in a little clearing just on 
the edge of the great jungle that spread away 
up the mountains, with hardly a break for 
miles and miles. 

1 2 1 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


The men were stripped and battling like 
tigers, and the thud of heavy fists on naked 
flesh was accompanied by the gasps and 
ejaculations of the spectators as they surged 
in a solid ring round them. The fight was a 
game one, and McGann was living well up to 
my expectations and slowly wearing his man 
out, when suddenly another fight started on 
the outside of the ring. I had noticed with 
surprise several natives in the crowd as I 
rode up, but thought that they were some of 
our Sepoys. Now I saw my error; for at the 
starting of the outside fight a cry rose, and a 
dozen long Afghan knives flashed in the sun- 
light and sank in the group of excited men 
before they knew that danger was near. 

Then came a horrible panic. The men tried 
to break and run, but the fierce Hillsmen 
swarmed in hundreds and blocked every 
path. Our men were unarmed save for their 
belts, but many a savage head went down 
under the brass buckles. They were banked 
up in a solid mass round my pony for awhile 
so that I could not stir. Once I caught sight 
of McGann — naked, bloody and terrible — 
standing across the body of his late foe, his 
arms swinging like flails, and I saw man after 


122 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


man go down beneath their crashing weight; 
and then the fight swept in between us, and 
the next instant a man sprang savagely at my 
throat. 

I saw the flash of a long knife, but at this 
point the pony took a hand in the matter and 
doubled up my assailant with a kick in the 
solar plexus. And he and I made a break 
for liberty, and had almost got clear out to 
the open when four of the black devils rush- 
ed us together, and at the same instant a wild 
cut from behind ripped my arm open, and 
the sudden pain made me drop my only 
weapon, my riding whip. 

I had no time to think, to pray, before the 
foremost man had grasped my bridle and — 
then came a fierce Irish oath, a savage, grind- 
ing smash and a hoarse voice in my ears: 
“Ride, sonny, ride like hell, and duck, for 
Gawd’s sake, duck!” 

I turned for an instant, my pony springing 
almost from under me as McGann struck her 
savagely, and saw him standing off the crowd 
for my escape. He had a knife in each hand 
that he had wrenched from men as he struck 
them down, and his terrible execution check- 
ed the rush for one moment, and that mo- 


123 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


ment gave me my chance. So far there had 
been never a shot fired. The fight had been 
desperate, but beyond the fierce Irish curses, 
silent. The evident intention was to surprise 
the camp before they could bring up the 
guns; and as my mare went by the last clump 
of jungle like a flying shadow there was a 
hoarse murmur, and then for the last time I 
heard McGann’s voice in the distance, “Duck, 
fur Gawd’s sake, duck!” and I ducked — God 
bless him! — I ducked, and the next moment 
the ping of a jezail bullet told me that I’d 
done it none too soon. 

What a ride that was! The bullets kept 
skimming over me and under me as I lay 
along the pony’s neck, and they chased us 
right into camp, sometimes by short cuts — 
for I had to keep to the open and so go 
round — getting almost within striking dis- 
tance of those long knives. 

God forgive me! but I was so utterly terri- 
fied that I only clung, sobbing and moaning 
in an agony of terror, to the pony’s neck. 
Suddenly she was stopped short with a wrench 
and I waited with my eyes shut for the end, 
till a rough arm seized me and a rougher 
voice shouted, “Good Gawd! Doc, what’s up.” 

124 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 

I came to my senses with a gasp and tum- 
bled off the pony into the hands of the cor- 
poral’s guard, who were coming up on the 
double to find out the meaning of the distant 
shots. Another moment and a bugle sang 
shrilly and the whole camp sprang to active 
life, while from the distant foothills came a 
muttering that grew to a hoarse roar as Ayub 
Khan and his wild, glittering army swept into 
sight. 

The buzz in the camp grew to a clanging 
din. Everything was in the wildest confusion; 
the noise of a thousand feet shook the ground; 
a dozen bugles rang out, and the horses came 
with a rush, ridden hard with whip and spur, 
their chains clashing and jangling as they 
dashed for the guns. They were followed 
by a couple of regiments of our Goorkhas, 
who went forward at the double, belting and 
fixing bayonets as they ran, their boyish faces 
set and their eyes snapping eagerly. 

Just then the Adjutant rode past, and, see- 
ing me, reined up with a jerk; “Any men 
in the hospital, youngster?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, get your doolies together; quick; go 
back to the rear about five hundred yards so 
125 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


that I can find you readily when I want you.” 

“And the tents sir?” 

“Oh, damn the tents. Let ’em stay.” And 
off he went, bawling to a bugler as he rode. 

Well, you may be sure we scrambled then, 
and in about five minutes Dick and I had the 
doolies together and were trotting to the 
rear. 

Meantime over toward the foot-hills there 
was a steady, rippling snarl, with now and 
again a faint Goorkha cheer. Then the guns 
began to roar, but only fitfully, and I sat on 
the mare and strained my eyes to see how 
things were going. The whole plain was 
covered with a heavy pall of smoke that rose 
slowly and sullenly to the hills above; but 
with the exception of an occasional glare of 
flame and now and again a shadowy moving 
mass, I could see nothing. 

Then as I still watched, out came one of 
the guns, the men clinging to the caisson 
and the drivers lashing the horses furiously. 

On they came, snorting, reeking and curs- 
ing, the gun bouncing and smashing after 
the flying horses. Then another and another 
dashed by, overturning tents and stores in 
their mad flight. 


126 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 

What did it mean? I was dazed, bewilder- 
ed. The firing had drawn close, and dimly 
through the smoke came the broken ranks 
of our brave Goorkhas, running, fighting and 
cursing in that horrible, smoky glare; reform- 
ing at every chance, only to be broken again 
as the fierce Paythan wave broke over them. 

I sat in my saddle in stupid bewilderment, 
absolutely lost in the thick of the fight. Which- 
ever way I turned there was nothing but that 
horrible, choking smoke and those sullen 
glares of hellish flame, with here and there 
hand-to-hand struggles seen for a moment 
dim, indistinct and terrible, then blotted out 
in flame and smoke. 

Just then the last gun got clear and came 
flying past. Riding along with the leaders, 
his face all bloody, with a heavy whip in one 
hand and a revolver in the other, came the 
Adjutant, lashing the horses desperately. As 
he passed he caught sight of me, and with a 
fierce oath leaned over and struck my pony, 
"Damn you, get back, you fool!” and he was 
gone, while the pony reared and plunged, 
and with a yell I woke up. Aye, woke and 
howled and shouted wildly, firing my revol- 
ver into the smoke and waving my sword as 

127 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


the pony plunged after the retreating gun. 

Fortunately, the plucky little mare had 
more sense than her master and got in with 
the retreat; but it was a long time before I 
came to myself, weary and hoarse with shout- 
ing. I was riding along with the battery, and 
gradually the scorching fire blot faded a little 
out of my eyes and I grew sane and ashamed 
of myself, though I doubt if any man in that 
wild, sweating crowd had even seen my crazy 
exhibition, for bullets were still whistling like 
hail around us and men dropped in ones and 
twos every moment. 

As we raced on a man on a big charger, 
whom I hardly recognized for our old Colonel, 
caught up with me and -rode a moment at 
my side. He looked down with a strange, 
kindly look in his eyes, that I had never seen 
before. Then he leaned over and stroked 
the mare’s neck and said, “Ease her a little, 
sonny; ease her.” He finally slackened his 
pace with us for some fifty yards and then 
said, "Now, boy, let her go!’ and, touching 
his own horse, he sprang forward and the 
pony went after him like a flash. A few 
yards further on and I saw what it meant. 
There, right across our path, lay a broad, 
128 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


deep ditch; and over it were going the guns, 
some leaping clean after the flying horses, 
others jarring and jamming on the opposite 
bank and lifted beyond by sheer muscle and 
brawn. 

The mare could never have cleared it as I 
was riding her; but as the Colonel’s charger 
rose to the stiff jump she followed easily, with 
a shrill whinney to the stallion, and we lighted 
safe in the paddyfield, and ten minutes later 
were in the centre of a solid British square, 
and Dickey and I were laughing and crying 
and shaking hands — and we weren’t the only 
ones, either. 

The ditch ran in an irregular square — as is 
common in all Indian rice districts — right 
around the field where we had made our 
stand. It had lately been flooded for the 
irrigation of the crop, but had dried down to 
a sloppy mud bottom. Our guns faced the 
four sides of the field as the fight came up, 
for the Hillsmen kept on our track like 
wolves, the Sikhs and Goorkhas holding them 
back for four or five minutes at a time, at a 
horrible cost; but minutes meant guns, and 
they were worth their weight in gold, while 
valor and blood cost a shilling a day. 

129 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 


\ Suddenly a bugle rang, and was echoed 
far and near. The hour of sacrifice was gone 
and our gallant Sepoys melted away to right 
and left before the Afghans and broke into a 
hard rush for the rear of the field, where 
rough ladders and ropes were slung to help 
them across. 

Our Afghan friends were on top of us like 
a whirlwind, but the ditch was our salvation. 
Again and again they came up, under a 
murderous fire, right to the ditch. A few 
leaped it fair and clean, but only to fall on 
the triple hedge of steel that never wavered. 
It was our turn at last, and our guns belched 
out flame and death and cut long lanes in 
their ranks as they rushed fearlessly up to 
certain death. 

For four long hours they kept at us, fight- 
ing grandly, with a stubborn fury that, under 
wise leadership, would make them well-nigh 
invincible. Then, like a sullen thundercloud, 
they drew away, still firing, and we were 
saved. 

When the pall of smoke lifted, the pale, 
cold moon was floating overhead, shining so 
peacefully over the scene that it was almost 
impossible to believe that the last few hours 

13° 


THE SAVIOR OF THE GUNS. 

had been other than a feverish dream. But 
the horror of that night of hospital work over 
the course of our wild ride was a fitting end- 
ing to so dire a day. 

We found McGann stark and naked, with 
his dead around him, and we wrapped him 
up in a British Jack and laid him to rest with 
his foes. 

And then, to my utter stupefaction, I found 
that I — the coward, who had been driven, 
sobbing with fear, into camp — was a hero, 
the savior of the guns. The Colonel bought 
a set of silver-mounted harness for the little 
mare, and when we got back to Bombay the 
city was full of the wildest tales of my ride 
and the number of savage Afghans I had 
slain, till I could have died of shame. But 
the more I denied the more they believed, 
and the Colonel just smiled, too, till one day 
he came round to the college and called me 
out before the whole crowd and pinned a 
cross on my coat for bravery. 
























































- 




































DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 



DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 


Early in the seventies, having passed my 
preliminary examinations for the Indian Army 
Medical Department, I received orders to 
join the hospital corps at Nassirabhad, where 
I expected to “walk the hospital” for two 
years according to custom before entering 
the Bombay Medical College for my final 
course. 

At this time I was just eighteen and bub- 
bling over with health and a sense of poten- 
tiality that only time and experience could 
lessen. My blood ran riot as I thought of all 
I would do and be; I would make a name 
that should be known across the earth, fame 
and fortune should — but there, I was very 
young and surely you understand. 

During my studies for “preliminary” I had 
been searching eagerly for the path that led 
to glory, and in my enthusiasm the only 
trouble seemed to be the number of paths 
open to an earnest young doctor in this land 
135 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

of famine, fevers, snakes — yes, snakes; there 
I had it, the cobra de capello with its deadly 
bite killing off thousands of natives yearly, 
aye and Europeans, too, and all because I 
had not arrived on the scene to find and give 
to the suffering world the antidote that should 
save them and make me famous forever! 

That was the path for me. Had others 
tried it? I could find no records in my 
books of any but the most crude attempts to 
establish a rational basis of treatment, and 
beyond actual cautery followed by a drunken 
revel, there was at that time no known drug 
of sufficient potency to counteract the deadly 
poison. And this notwithstanding the pre- 
valent belief that an antidote surely existed. 

After an unusually large number of deaths 
from cobra bites articles occasionally would 
appear in the Bombay Gazette describing 
battles royal between those hereditary foes, 
the cobra and the small but plucky mon- 
goose; in these battles I read that the mon- 
goose was often badly bitten but rarely killed, 
and that on receiving the bite he recognized 
its importance apparently and immediately 
ceased hostilities, disappeared for a few mo- 
ments in the shrubbery and then returned as 
136 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

aggressive as ever and none the worse for 
his bite. Spectators, watching these battles, 
were invariably baffled on attempting to fol- 
low the plucky little fellow, but it seemed to 
be an established fact that if restrained at the 
critical moment death immediately followed, 
leading to the inference that the antidote was 
not in his own system, but probably was ob- 
tained from some herb, possibly a common 
one, whose properties were not rightly ap- 
preciated in medicine. 

I pondered over this problem till it became 
a craze, and when I finally reached Nassira- 
bhad I set to work to solve it. I got up sev- 
eral cobra fights, but, with one exception, the 
snake was a rank quitter and the mongoose 
won hands down; the exception took place 
in a cage and both the contestants died. The 
mongoose, on being bitten and finding his 
retreat cut off, returned to the fight with a 
fury and passion that soon finished the snake, 
and though I tried my best to comfort the vic- 
tor, he died, veteran fighter though he was, 
in less than an hour, and I was so remorse- 
ful — for he had been a pet — that I gave up 
that line of investigation. 

Naturally my hobby became known in the 
137 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

Bazaar; in fact I had lost no opportunity of 
talking with the natives, hoping to catch 
some hint from them that would set me on 
the right track, but as usual they seemed to 
have ideas on all things under heaven except 
the one in which I was interested, and when 
I persisted they would inform me that, with 
all due respect, I, the chota sahib, was foolish 
to try to interfere in so great a matter, that 
the God Sahib knew what he was about when 
he mixed the cobra poison. 

But one day when I had almost given up, 
my boy (who was a Bombay cockney) told 
me that there was a Bengalee fakir at the 
gate of the compound whom he eyed with 
much distrust, but that he had demanded 
sight of the sahib, and as he claimed to be 
the bearer of good tidings he had thought 
better to report the matter. 

I went out on the veranda and found my 
visitor squatted on the rugs, chewing betel 
and seeming entirely unconcerned at the 
close proximity of a couple of Bencharie 
hounds who, with bristles and fangs much in 
evidence, showed that they shared the boy’s 
distrust. 

After ordering off the boy and the dogs 

138 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

and exchanging salutations the man came to 
business and told his story. His name was 
Dalmut Khab. He was a wandering fakir 
and during his journeyings had heard of my 
search for the poison antidote. How? Oh, 
the winds had whispered it; the leaves had 
rustled it, and perhaps, yes, now he came to 
think, perhaps the mouth of man had spoken 
it; anyway he was here and he had the anti- 
dote. 

His proposal was that to test it I should go 
with him into the jungle to the home of the 
cobra, whom he would seduce and then en- 
gage until it bit him before my eyes; then, if 
he died, well and good, he was a vain boaster, 
but if he lived and so proved his medicine a 
true antidote, I was to pay him the price he 
demanded, ten rupees. 

The terms seemed fair and the price ab- 
surdly small, so we agreed to make the test 
the following morning, getting away to the 
woods before the heat of the day. 

The man slept in the veranda and was up 
and ready for the start before the cook had 
served “chotahazire,” and during the long 
ride he kept his hand on the saddle of my 
tat the whole distance, covering the ground 
139 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

with a long, loping stride that gained my in- 
finite respect. At last, at his suggestion, we 
tied the tat up and entered a low patch of 
tamarind trees and soon came to an old 
disused well, such as are common all through 
the country. Here, the space being naturally 
clear from the rank undergrowth, we halted 
and my friend began his preparations for the 
test. 

First he took out from his sari an oblong 
package, and opening it displayed a bundle 
of cut leaves, one of which he rolled between 
his fingers and thumb and then proceeded to 
masticate, informing me at the same time 
that he intended to call a cobra by music (as 
many fakirs pretend to be able to do), that he 
would rouse the snake to anger and let him 
strike; that he would probably go into the 
“place of shadows," as the poison was very 
bitter, but that he would surely come back. 
My part was to watch carefully and count the 
minutes from the time of the bite to the 
eleventh minute, and, if he had not come 
back by then, I was to chew one of the leaves 
myself and to force it into his mouth so that 
it should lie along the palate. That was all. 

These directions made me feel rather 


140 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

more nervous than I would have cared to 
acknowledge, but I was determined to see 
the thing through, and as the man seemed 
perfectly confident I braced myself — and wait- 
ed. He had taken out from a little bag the 
usual reed pipes and began to play softly as 
he sat squatted on his haunches with his 
back to the wall of the well. I stood well 
back, leaning against the trunk of a tree 
watching every movement. 

The music was faint and plaintive and for 
a while brought no result. Then my eye 
was caught by a quick movement in the 
grass that bordered our little clearing; again, 
a few feet to the right, and this time I saw 
distinctly the lithe brown body gliding through. 
The reptile made almost a complete circle, I 
meantime edging away as he advanced in 
my direction, while the fakir played on, ap- 
parently entirely unmoved by the nearness 
of our deadly neighbor. 

Suddenly the snake glided out into full 
view, at the same time rising on his tail and 
swaying from side to side, his hood expand- 
ing and closing like a fan and seeming to 
keep time to the weird, wailing music. For 
a few moments the fakir kept up the monot- 

141 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

onous wailing, the snake responding to every 
wave of sound; then the music grew jerky 
and irregular, with now and again a jar of 
discord that seemed to irritate the snake, 
whose movements grew short and impatient. 
Its hood expanded angrily, and finally, with a 
hiss, it half struck at the charmer. At this 
the man made a quick movement toward the 
snake, which was swaying, poised, a couple 
of feet in front of him. Like a flash the snake 
met him and I saw the stroke as clearly as 
possible. 

The next instant the man held up his wrist 
on which two tiny spots of blood were all 
that showed the track of the terrible message 
of death. The man just glanced at me, drop- 
ped his pipes and, taking some of the leaf 
pulp from his mouth, he clapped it on the 
wound and bound the end of his sari around 
it. 

“Remember, sahib, eleven minutes!” he 
said, and then lay back against the wall and 
closed his eyes. For a few moments his 
brown, muscular chest rose and fell convul- 
sively under the white linen jacket, then 
gradually quieted down until, beyond a slight 
tremor over the region of the heart, I could 
142 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

see no movement whatever. I eyed him 
narrowly, watch in hand; I saw a blue-gray 
pallor rise and mingle with the brown of his 
cheek, until the whole face was drawn and 
ashy. 

Of course it was not true — it was only im- 
agination — my nerves were unnaturally tense, 
but a sudden stillness seemed to settle on the 
whole place and I felt it so keenly that I tried 
to cry out — to make some noise — but only 
succeeded in drawing a choking breath. As 
1 stood waiting I was conscious of nothing 
but the intense silence and that cold, gray 
face. Once I shivered and looked back fear- 
fully over my shoulder, expecting I know not 
what, but with a strange sensation that the 
fakir was not in the body that lay before me, 
but was watching me from behind. 

I glanced at my watch, saw that the eleven 
minutes were just up and quickly kneeling 
by his side I placed my hand over his heart. 
There was no action; I used a stethoscope — 
still with no result — and then I grew alarmed 
and hastily began to chew one of the leaves 
as he had directed. 

Meanwhile the man lay there quite motion- 
less; gray flies lighted and moved at will 
143 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

over the set face and caused never a tremor. 
I lifted his eyelid and there was a delicate 
film covering the eyeball; I knew it so well, 
had seen it so often, but now I felt like a 
murderer and would have given considerably 
more than the promised ten rupees to be 
jogging home with the fellow at my stirrup. 

I opened his teeth with hardly an effort and 
noted that his tongue was doubled back 
curiously, seeming to block up the entire 
larynx. Just as I was going to apply the 
leaves I thought the tongue moved slightly; 
I watched eagerly and saw it slowly unfold to 
its normal position, while equally slowly the 
jaws closed again. Now, as the back of his 
head was resting against the wall and had not 
fallen forward, the lower jaw must have 
moved upward, and my dead friend had, 
much to my relief, come to life again. 

Without any further help from me he 
slowly threw off the awful bonds that seemed 
to swathe him about, and the gray pallor 
faded away before the brown. In a few mo- 
ments the heart began to act; then after one 
or two futile efforts the eyelids lifted languid- 
ly, the man came back from “the place of 
shadows,” and in a little while was talking to 
144 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

me rationally. Inside half an hour he ap- 
parently was quite himself again and ready 
for our long hot trot back to civilization. 

That night I slept with a precious package 
of herbs under my pillow and dreamed that 
an army of cobras came and sat on their 
tails ’round my bed and begged for a taste 
of my treasured leaves. As for Dalmut 
Khab, the fakir, he had gone on his way re- 
joicing, with ten big silver rupees tucked 
away somewhere in the intricacies of his 
clothing. One evening a few weeks later, 
while sitting on the chief’s veranda smoking, 
after enjoying his wife’s hospitality, we heard 
the “rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub” of a snake charm- 
er’s drum and a few moments later a fat, im- 
maculate Hindoo was salaaming before us. 
I had never seen a really first-class perform- 
ance and now watched the men handling 
with impunity some of the most vicious 
reptiles that the country produced, seeming 
to have them under perfect control. 

After they had gone our talk naturally was 
of the same subject, and I found my chief a 
perfect encyclopedia; what he did not know 
about reptiles — their habits, poisons and 
antidotes — was not worth knowing, and in a 
145 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

burst of admiring confidence I related my 
previous experience. 

He stared at me strangely for a full minute 
before he said: “You haven’t been long out 
from home, have you?” 

“No, sir. Why?” 

“Well, that explains your credulity, but 
certainly not your astounding luck in seeing 
such an exhibition. Of course your leaves 
are silly trash; there’s not a leaf in India that 
has not been classified and expert scientists 
know its last virtue, while the greatest chem- 
ists in the world are still trying to solve the 
riddle that you paid your few rupees to have 
solved for you. Throw away your herbs, my 
boy, but do not feel too badly chagrined, for 
I would gladly give five hundred rupees to 
see the same exhibition that you have seen 
for ten. And the strange part of it is that in 
all probability your friend Dalmut knew as 
much, but (like all of his kind) having a kink 
somewhere in his brain, he preferred to gain 
your paltry ten by fraud rather than my five 
hundred justly. 

“Of course, after the exhibition to-night 
you will see probable collusion between your 
man and his snake, though if you knew it, 
146 


DALMUT KHAB, THE FAKIR. 

even that does not necessarily follow, and I 
can only account for the enormous outlay of 
force wasted — absolutely wasted on you, as 
you did not in the least appreciate the phe- 
nomenon — on the grounds of the tortuous 
methods of the native mind. Good night, 
my boy; good night!” 

And I went to bed. 













' * 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 










THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


It was on a frightfully hot night up at Nas- 
sirabhad, more years ago than I care to re- 
member, that I was first initiated into the 
mysteries of poker, as it was then played, 
on occasions, by the officers of Her Majesty’s 
Seventeenth Lancers. 

I was a youngster in the medical service 
at the time, learning my bones, mixing physic 
in the hospital and generally enjoying what 
little life there was to be found in the hottest 
hole in the Bombay Presidency. Many a 
good man has gone wrong in that sun-cursed 
station, with its brazen sky above, baking 
down on the glaring sand plains below, with 
never a tree to break the awful monotony of 
shimmering heat. A little, panting hell, 
ringed in with the Ajmere hills. No wonder 
“accidents” happened and ghastly things lay 
out yonder in the spear grass till the fatigue 
parties brought them in and laid them gently 
by to rest. “An accident while hunting” — 
1 5 1 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 
so ran the merciful report, and we under- 
stood. 

So, of course, the Seventeenth got a name 
for high play and reckless, devil-may-care 
lives, and some criticisms got into the home 
papers, but all that was wiped out when they 
got away to Zululand and showed the world 
that men can die like heroes though they 
never lived like saints; aye! and perhaps — 
but that’s not the story. 

In all the dreary monotony of the station 
life, about the only thing that affected my 
mercurial temperament was the lack of cash. 
My home allowance was gone to the bunnias 
long before I saw it; and so, when Major 
Holt promised to “put me onto poker,” I had 
to hie me to the bunnias once more. I man- 
aged to raise about fifty rupees, and in due 
time found myself sitting at a round table 
with my mentor, striving to master the in- 
tricacies of “bobtailed flushes, pairs, straights,” 
etc.; also, the still more delicate art of lying 
by expression rather than viva voce. 

We were sitting in a corner of the mess 
veranda, and across the heavy night the 
strains of “My Queen” came floating. Inside 
young enthusiasts and their perspiring seniors 
152 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


tried to believe they were enjoying the Christ- 
mas dance. 

The Major and I played a few experimental 
hands and then began with a small limit, I 
betting as my courage and my cards seemed 
to dictate. Our little game was soon spotted, 
however, and half an hour after we started 
the big round table was full of eager players, 
ringed round by equally eager spectators. 

For a while all my interest consisted in 
“chipping in,” then a small pot came my way 
by default, and as I gathered it in something 
in me roused and stirred. I felt my pulses 
quicken, my diffidence vanish, and from that 
moment I became a factor in the game. To 
this day I cannot tell what possessed me. I 
completely ignored the few rules that I had 
learned and played an entirely — shall I call it 
emotional game? I did just what I felt like 
doing at the moment, with but the smallest 
regard for my cards, seeming to follow blind- 
ly some inner guide that was leading me. I 
won steadily, sometimes on absurd hands, 
dropping out again on others which should 
have been played to the limit, and then find- 
ing that better ones had been out against me. 

When the reveille sounded I was the only 
153 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


one of the original players still at the table; 
but as each left, his place had been eagerly 
filled. So it went on all day, men going and 
coming, the steward being kept busy provid- 
ing food, a bite of chicken and a swallow of 
whiskey, as we sat. 

The peculiarity of my play and the steady 
run of luck, of course, attracted attention. 
Men with good hands began to drop out 
when the “Doctor” stayed in, and the specta- 
tors bunched behind my chair, criticising my 
crazy play freely, but my winnings kept on 
steadily increasing. My pockets were full of 
notes and silver currency, but the devil that 
had waked in me would not cry enough. I 
have often wondered since how long I could 
have kept on. As it was, I had not missed a 
hand nor left my chair for nearly thirty hours, 
and yet was not conscious of any sense of 
weariness. 

Late that night a hospital hamall brought 
a note from the head apothecary requiring 
my immediate presence, and my little game 
was over. I staggered as I rose from the 
chair after my long sitting; my legs would 
hardly support me across the veranda; but 
before I got to the hospital I was all right 
154 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

again, though not in the best of temper at 
having to leave the game. 

I found a stranger with the apothecary, a 
man some few years my senior, for whom he 
wished to claim my hospitality. He intro- 
duced him as Mr. Greenie, and stated that he 
had missed the train while on his way to 
Jubblepore; that his baggage and also his 
servant had gone on with his tickets, and, un- 
fortunately, by some mistake, with his money, 
too. They would doubtless wait for him at 
Ajmere, and in the meantime he had come 
over to the hospital for a night’s lodging, and 
as the apothecary’s bungalow was full, his 
entertainment devolved on me. 

I had a cot moved from one of the wards 
to my rooms and set to work to play the host 
to the best of my ability. After supper we 
spent a pleasant hour smoking and chatting. 
I related my poker experience. How much 
had I won? I did not know. Was even then 
too tired to count; and, lifting the lid of a 
traveling trunk, I emptied my pockets into 
one corner and tumbled some clothes care- 
lessly over the money, saying that I would 
save the pleasure of counting it till morning. 

I think that Mr. Greenie was the most 
155 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

charming man that I ever met. He had a 
fund of anecdote and a rare magnetic gift of 
holding your attention and interesting you in 
the most trivial remarks, though from hints 
of personal experience that he let fall I 
judged that he must be considerably older 
than he looked. Among his other accom- 
plishments was a rich, mellow voice of a 
peculiar timbre, which, although uncultivated, 
rang as clear and sweet as a clarion. Among 
other things, he sang “True Till Death,” the 
now well-known English ballad. I had never 
heard it before, and it was, in fact, quite new 
at that time, and no voice ever affected me 
quite as his did that night. Something in the 
quality of tone, or, perhaps, the magnetism 
of the man, touched a chord that, despite of 
years and all that followed, vibrates yet. 

Before we went to sleep he showed me the 
miniature of a young girl, and told me that 
they had been married a little over a year 
and that the first baby had just come to them. 
I slept late, after all the excitement, and only 
woke in answer to the hamall’s repeated 
knocking. The doctor sahib was going his 
rounds and waiting for me. 

I left my new friend still sleeping, and, or- 
156 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

dering breakfast for a later hour, went my 
rounds and did my dispensary work, after 
which he and I made a hearty breakfast and 
then drove over to the railway station. I got 
him a ticket for Ajmere — on credit, by the 
bye, as I had forgotten, in the hurry for the 
train, that I had turned out my pockets the 
night before. As he leaned out of the car- 
riage, just before starting time, I suddenly 
noticed that the locket was missing from his 
chain, and called his attention to it. He was 
terribly put out — in fact, more so than the oc- 
casion seemed to warrant. Just then the 
train pulled out, and the last I saw of him he 
was still frowning angrily at his watch guard. 

On returning home I went to my trunk 
with the pleasant object of counting my gains 
of the previous night. Lifting the lid I thrust 
my hand down in the corner and found — 
nothing! For an instant I was paralyzed, 
then dragged the various contents out helter- 
skelter, even feeling in the pockets of the 
clothes in my bewilderment, but my booty 
was gone — gone to the last piece! As I was 
replacing the tumbled things something 
bright on the edge of the tray caught my eye, 
and there, jammed in the brass tray clip, was 
157 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

Greenie’s locket. I stared at it dumbly for a 
minute, and then, as its significance broke 
on me, I crouched on the floor and sobbed 
like a little child, 

God knows it wasn’t the money so much, 
though that was bad enough; but it was the 
breaking of the first ideal, the killing of a 
boy’s faith. That apparently ended the 
episode. I was in a trinket containing the por- 
trait of some other body’s wife, and out — 
well, say, three thousand rupees. 

Some few years later I had given up my 
army commission and accepted the position 
of house surgeon at the Byculla Hospital in 
Bombay, and naturally was in touch with all 
gayeties of that hospitable city. It was at a 
garden party, in the height of the season, that 
I met the sister of an old college chum, and 
then — well, this isn’t a love story, but the 
whole world seemed changed and life took 
on a different meaning. My friendship with 
her brother stood me in good stead, and I saw 
her almost daily; and when the season was 
over and they went back to their home at 
Poona, I was invited there with Charlie. 

Mr. Henderson was a commissioner of 
something or other, so, of course, the home 
158 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

was as perfect as money could make it. 
There was a large house party, besides which, 
hardly an evening passed without half a dozen 
young folk dropping in for music, billiards or 
cards, and life went by like a pleasant dream. 
There were long canters over the maidans, 
in the cool, gray dawn; lazy, sleeping after- 
noons; evening on the tennis courts, and 
then the night, with the glorious moonlit 
gardens echoing the music of fresh young 
voices as song and laughter filled the starry 
night. 

I made frequent trips back and forth to 
Bombay, and on one of these occasions 
found a new patient in the pauper ward who 
immediately attracted my attention and 
aroused my keenest interest. She was a 
pale, pathetic looking woman, but with an 
unmistakable stamp of refinement, and a 
face that must once have been simply ideal, 
but now was wasted and drawn, while her 
great gray eyes were filled with a wistful sad- 
ness that haunted me. It was phthisis in 
its last stages, and the case was hopeless 
from the first. I had her moved to a private 
ward and made her as comfortable as I could. 
The poor girl’s gratitude for a few little kind- 
*59 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

nesses spoke volumes for her past privations, 
and my interest grew till we became fast 
friends, and I learned by degrees her sorrow- 
ful story. 

It was the same old pathetic tale of a man’s 
weakness and a young girl’s passionate love. 

I had heard it so often and puzzled over the 
problem till my brain grew weary; but this 
woman’s case came closer home, for, while 
clearing out my desk one day, I came across 
the locket that held the portrait of Greenie’s 
wife; and, as I looked on it, it seemed to 
change, to fade slowly, till the features grew 
sharp and drawn and the sparkling eyes took 
on that look of hopeless sadness that haunted 
me, and I knew I held what once was the 
portrait of the woman whose life was ebbing 
away in the ward below. 

All her thought was still of her lover, her 
husband; all her pity for him. The dark side 
of his nature had never touched her con- 
sciousness. She believed the tale he had 
told her; others were guilty, and he had to 
pay; and when the proofs grew strong and 
her people pressed them on her, she took 
her little one and went out into the world 
alone to work and wait “for Will.” Then the 
160 


THE CASE OF MR. GREEN1E. 


darkness closed in on her; the child died, 
and she — well, there she lay, still waiting, 
with that dumb, patient look in her eyes — 
waiting for Will. 

Colonial laws are naturally more elastic 
than those of the Empire, and influence, ju- 
diciously used, will accomplish much; so I 
decided that, if the thing could be done, she 
should see the man before she died, even if 
I had to bring him down country under a 
fresh indictment for the old Nassirabhad 
affair. My plans, however, were entirely 
upset by the information I received from the 
Police Department to the effect that my man 
had broken jail two months previously, after 
wounding a native keeper so seriously that 
the man had since died; also, that, although 
the police were looking for him all over 
India, they had failed to take him. He was 
wanted badly; but as he was known to have 
had money at the time of his escape, it was 
thought that he had got clean out of the 
country. 

A few days after this I made another of 
my frequent trips to Poona. I was in that 
restless state between hope and fear, and I 
am afraid that I must have been a distinctly 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


uncomfortable guest. I was jealous of every 
man that my lady smiled upon, and, being an 
ideal hostess, she naturally smiled on many. 
There was one man in particular who seem- 
ed to get more than his due share, and, while 
I cursed him in my throat, I could not but see 
that he deserved his good luck. 

I avoided an introduction, but watched him 
furtively, and as I noted his tall, well-knit 
figure, his bronzed, bearded face and the 
charming grace with which he moved among 
his fellow guests, my heart grew cold and 
sick within me. 

I asked Charlie aoout him, and he told me 
that he was an American and a traveler, “an 
awfully good sort, don’t you know? Had 
letters or something to the governor.” I 
pulled away savagely at my cigar, while 
Charlie eyed me narrowly awhile, then whis- 
pered: “Poor old Dickey! I’m damned sorry, 
old man; but see here, why don’t you go in 
and see the thing out? By gad! if I loved a 
girl I’d fight till I dropped, and here you’re 
letting him have a walkover. I’ll swear she 
was all right a couple of weeks ago, and then 
you just dropped the game. What do you 
suppose she thinks?" 

162 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


I looked at him a moment, then grasped 
his hand. “Thanks, old man. Come in and 
introduce me to him.” And all my life I was 
glad that I spoke that moment and meant to 
tight for my love. Two minutes later and I 
should have felt like a coward to the end of 
the chapter. 

We were sitting out on the veranda, and in 
the background, through the open windows, 
came the hum of voices and the clatter of 
cups and glasses, as early tea was being 
served in the gloaming. Then came a chorus 
of “Oh, yes, please do, please do!” A few 
opening notes on the piano, bold, dashing 
accompaniment and then a man’s voice rose, 
pure and strong 

“Here will I pledge thee, dearest one, 
Here will I vow when day is done; 
Darker the shadows fall on the trees, 
Stirred to and fro by the evening breeze.” 

And as the refrain came ringing out, “True, 
true till death!” I suddenly went dizzy and 
clutched Charlie’s arm. What was it? What 
did it mean — that voice — in this house — after 
many years? 

“Who is it?” I whispered, hoarsely. 

163 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

"Why, Dickey, what ails you, man? That’s 
Ransome, the chap you’re going in to meet.” 

“The — the Oh, my God!” I gasped. 

"Come up stairs, quick. I’m not ill or mad, 
but I want your help.” And then I told him 
the whole story of my poker game, my meet- 
ing with Greenie, the theft of the money and 
all the after events. 

He grew very grave and stern. "But are 
you certain this is the man? Other men may 
have similar voices.” 

"Certain? Why, I’d swear to it among ten 
thousand. Besides, the man’s personality is 
the same — he fascinates everybody here, just 
as he did me out there.” 

“Yes, yes, I know. But how are we going 
to prove it? You see, he is our guest, and 
if he denied the whole matter, even plausibly, 
think how the governor would feel. Besides, 
if you couldn’t prove your case, what would 
Dolly think?” 

"Wait, wait a minute; let me think.” I sat 
quite still, thinking hard, and then like a flash 
it came. "Stay here, Charlie, and I’ll be back 
in twenty minutes.” 

I left the house and grounds, and, making 
a short cut through the bazaar, got to the 
164 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


police station. A few moment’s conversation 
showed me that I was on the right track, for 
the portrait of Greenie, alias half a dozen 
things, murderer, forger, thief, was there for 
indentification. I easily obtained a copy rep- 
resenting that, as I was traveling consider- 
ably, I might come across the original and 
claim the reward that was out for his appre- 
hension. 

Ten minutes later even Charlie was satis- 
fied. The portrait was a comparatively late 
one, with the mustache, and to those looking 
for the likeness the beard presented little 
difficulty in the shape of a disguise, 

We sat and talked the thing out from all 
sides, and finally settled our plan of action. 
I lighted a cigar and strolled in a secluded 
part of the grounds, while Charlie went in- 
doors to snare the game. 

Presently they came strolling out and 
caught up with me. Charlie linked his arm 
in mine and said. “Ah, Dick, let me introduce 
you to ” 

“No need,” I broke in. “Mr. Greenie and 
I have met before, I think.” As I mentioned 
his name we both looked him straight in the 
eyes, and we saw the sudden start, the look 
165 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENiE. 

of hunted horror, and for a moment his hand 
went to his throat and tore at his collar; then, 
with an effort, he recovered and stood at bay. 
But it was too late; he knew that he had be- 
trayed himself. He moistened his lips with 
his tongue, then said with hardly a tremor, 
“Well, gentlemen, what is your pleasure?” 

As he spoke his hand suddenly went up, 
and we found ourselves looking down the 
barrel of a revolver. For an instant we were 
dumfounded and then the man slowly low- 
ered the weapon and said: “Gentlemen, the 
game’s up, and I know it, but for the sake of 
— well, the sake of my host (I think he meant 
hostess) keep the thing quiet and get me out 
of this. I’ll go with you anywhere, even back 
to jail — and you know what that means — but 
for God’s sake do the thing decently.” 

That night we three caught the fast mail 
for Bombay, and during the trip Greenie told 
us freely the story of his life, sparing nothing. 
He told of his first fall, when he had been 
stranded at Nassirabhad, and how he had 
gone from bad to worse. He evidently had 
not recognized me, and I kept silence. 

On his escape from jail he had forged sev- 
eral letters and presented them to various 
1 66 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 


gentlemen, feeling that his only hope of es- 
caping detection was by living among a class 
that would be above police surveillance. 
Later he had done his best to interest Miss 
Henderson, with the intention of throwing 
himself on her mercy and gaining her finan- 
cial aid to escape from the country. 

It was a cowardly thing, but then I suppose 
the man had some excuse, as he was fighting 
for his life. We told him of his wife and 
what we wished him to do, and I caught sight 
of a tear in his eyes as he hastily pulled his 
cap over them, and then he grew suddenly 
silent and would talk no more. 

She died in his arms just as the dawn came 
creeping in, but before she left us, the hungry 
look had left her solemn eyes, and they shone 
in the perfect peace of satisfied love. 

That night a boat pulled out in the dark to 
a tramp steamer that was lying with steam 
up, well out in the bay. On getting along- 
side one of the three men in the boat climbed 
to the rope ladder and turned to bid the 
others good-by. His voice was hoarse with 
emotion as he did so. “There, there,” growl- 
ed Charlie, almost unmanned himself, “it’s 
all right. Good luck. Good-by.” 

167 


THE CASE OF MR. GREENIE. 

But I reached up at the last moment and 
passed the little locket to his hand. I think 
he knew it by the touch; at least, he gave a 
half-startled cry and bent forward toward me, 
staring hard, and as we pushed off I heard him 
mutter, “Oh, my God, my God!” 

I wonder if we did wrong? We felt like 
two felons as we sneaked up to our rooms at 
the Byculla Hotel that night, but my wifesays 
that she would have done exactly the same. 

We have had several letters from Greenie, 
written under what is, I hope, his last alias. 
He is doing well in a new country, and, what 
is more, he has almost entirely refunded the 
money that Charlie and I advanced him to 
start again with. 

Perhaps he ought to have been hanged, 
but I doubt it. 


A TIGER EPISODE. 
























« 




A TIGER EPISODE. 


Remember it? What a question! It’s ten 
years gone, and more, yet I wake in the night 
with the cold sweat pouring from me and 
the echo of that last awful cry ringing in my 
ears. Forget it? I wish to God that I could, 
but — well, this is the story. We were station- 
ed at Nassirabhad, the hottest and slowest 
hole in the whole Indian Empire. The only 
thing to break the awful monotony was hunt- 
ing, and after two years there I was naturally 
something of an expert. Game, outside 
round the Ajmere hills, was pretty thick — 
that is, deer, neilghai and such like — while 
well up Chandi way there were lots of tigers 
to be had for the potting. 

Now, when one of the officers goes off a- 
hunting he generally picks on one of us 
“Tommies” who knows the ropes and takes 
us along. As there’s generally tidy good 
pickings for Tommy, the job is well liked; so 
when young Simpson — our latest sub. — asked 
I 7 I 




A TIGER EPISODE. 

me to go along and show him around, why, 

I naturally jumps at it, and packs my kit be- 
fore I knew where we were bound. When I 
heard no other place than Chandi jungle was 
to be our stamping ground I kind of squirm- 
ed a little, ’cause I’d been there before, and 
knew the particular kind of hell it was. It’s 
full of tigers, and they’re always hungry. 
Why, when the locomotive is plugging up 
the hill at night the stokers have to throw 
open the fire box door and let out the light, 
so as to scare the brutes off with the glare, 
on the outside of that little patch of jungle; 
and half a dozen Parsee firemen have been 
clawed off the tender by the brutes as the 
engine grunted past. The hill is so steep 
there that you can’t make more than twelve 
miles an hour with those rattletrap locomo- 
tives, anyway. 

Of course I wasn’t frightened; but taking a 
beginner out to a place like that isn’t fun. 
There’s no telling what a fellow’ll do when 
stacked up against big game for the first 
time; the finest shots in the world will go to 
pieces at their first sniff of a tiger or hathi — 
not that elephants are particularly dangerous 
— but when your finest pigeon and target 
172 


A TIGER EPISODE. 


shots tremble so they can’t hit a deer at fifty 
yards, it’s no joke to take a beginner up in 
the woods at Chandi. I tried to hold him, 
but he wouldn’t hear of it; told me as how he 
had promised a skin to a young lady back 
home for her birthday, and a skin he was 
going to have. So we started. 

We took the night express and dropped off 
early in the morning at Chandi village, where 
I got the stuff for our camp, a bundle of 
bamboos, some stout cord and a young kid 
for bait. We then struck across country, 
— keeping well in the open — for the Chandi 
River, a little half dried-up stream that 
quenches the thirst of more tigers in a week 
than all the other rivers in a month. We 
crossed this stream about three in the after- 
noon, and on the edge of the jungle I found 
a young banyan tree, up which I scrambled 
with the help of the youngster, and in a short 
time had hacked a space clear to fix my bam- 
boos, which I nailed and lashed into a kind 
of platform, strong and roomy enough to 
hold us both comfortably. Then I slipped 
down by a knotted rope which was to serve 
us as a ladder. 

Next we drove a stake deep down in the 
173 


A TIGER EPISODE. 


bank of the stream, and tied the kid to it, 
scratching its hind leg with a knife so it 
would bleat; and, having chucked our grub, 
blankets and rifles up, we shinned up the 
rope ourselves, and made everything com- 
fortable. Then I began to breathe a little 
easier; for it would take a pretty clever tiger 
to get at us up there. 

We ate a hearty meal and had a good slug 
of brandy to keep the chills off; then we lay 
smoking and talking in whispers, lying flat 
on our bellies, with our eyes and our Martinis 
sighted on the vague form of the kid that was 
dimly visible in the gloom. 

I think maybe I got a trifle drowsy; any- 
way, my eyes were so misty that I lost sight 
of the tip of the gun and the kid altogether. 
Then there was a loud rustle, and I was back 
in Chandi jungle with a jump that fetched 
my heart into my mouth. But it wasn’t a 
tiger, just a ring buck; but say, what a buck! 
In all my hunting days in India I never clap- 
ped eyes on his equal. He stood for a mo- 
ment sniffing kind of suspicious, then walked 
up to the kid and began nosing it. I felt 
Simpson stir in the shadow where he lay, and 
the next moment his Martini spoke and the 
174 


A TIGER EPISODE. 

buck dropped— a fine shot, yes; but he had 
such good light he couldn’t miss it. So far it 
was all right, but what next? 

“Jones,” says he, “keep a good watch out; 
I must have that skin before a tiger spoils it. 
I never saw such a fine one in all my life, 
and I wouldn’t miss it for a fortune.” 

An’ he up’s to go down the tree. Well, 
s’wel’p me! you might have knocked me 
down with a feather. 

That blasted kid had been howling for a tiger 
to come and eat him for an hour an’ more; 
and now this crack-brained idiot must go and 
add himself to the brute’s supper! 

Well, I raved and prayed and I cursed at 
him; it wasn’t a bit of good; his British blood 
was up, and, like thousands of other young- 
sters who make the backbone and glory of 
our army and navy, he didn’t know what fear 
was, but just grinned. They’re great dare- 
devil fighters, but they haven’t got any more 
sense than a suckling calf. There’s only two 
places on earth where they can be safely 
trusted — in bed and leading a forlorn hope. 
When I saw he was bent on it I just gritted 
my teeth and pulled up my gun as he slid 
down the rope. In two minutes he had skip- 
175 


A TIGER EPISODE. 


ped over the stream and had his knife at 
work on the buck, the kid meantime trying 
to pall up to him as if he was its mother. 

Well, sir, I just lay there with the muzzle 
of my gun sighted on his head — when the 
thumping of my heart didn’t shake it off. If 
the tiger would only try to sneak out on him 
— for I felt an awful certainty that he would 
come — I could save him; but if the brute 
sprang, God help him! Not a man in the 
Empire could pot a tiger on the jump, except 
by a fluke. 

As he knelt there in the moonlight I saw 
him push back from his side the scabbard of 
an Indian tulwar — a present, I believe, from 
the Rajah of Ajmere — to prevent the blood 
from staining it. While I was admiring his 
coolness and cursing his cussedness, even at 
that moment there was the flash of a long 
black shadow across the moonlit space, the 
whirl of a flying body and a huge tigress 
flung herself on him. 

She overshot the mark, and would have 
cleared his stooping form and given me a 
chance, but he must have felt, rather than 
seen, the danger. With one desperate wrench 
he drew the sword from its sheath in a long 
176 


A TIGER EPISODE. 


upward sweep that caught the brute fair in 
the middle, and clove it clean through flesh 
and muscle to the backbone. 

There was a frightful cry of rage, and as 
the beast’s great hind paw contracted in death 
agony it caught poor Simpson’s skull, literally 
tearing it off. With an awful haunting cry he 
fell down across the buck, and the three lay 
there dead, while the kid cowered away, 
bleating with fear. 

Yes, I think I went mad then. Hunger at 
last drove me down from the tree two days 
after. How I got to the railroad track I don’t 
know; but the express stopped, and the hands 
brought Simpson’s body in. I lay in hos- 
pital with brain fever for nearly three months, 
then they shipped me home. 

I’m a married man now and have little ones 
round me, and much of the horror has worn 
away; but the sight of the harvest moon 
brings on a fit of trembling that all the love 
of the wife can scarce quiet. 

























































































































ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 



ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


Nulla Hamet came out of his bake house 
bearing aloft in his fat brown arms a great 
tray of the sweetmeats for which he was so 
justly famous in the Boree Bazaar, and, call- 
ing to his wife, he set the tray down to cool 
in the breeze that fanned his tiny square of 
yard. 

Nulla was fat and prosaic and forty, and 
had made his mark and filled a big bag first 
with pice, then with annas and finally rupees, 
even before he had met Narka, his young 
wife. Before he met her all his pride and 
love had been fixed, steadfast and unwaver- 
ing, in his little back bake house, where he 
presided like a fat brown god over the pots 
and pans, and where his magic brought into 
being savory cakes of ghee and rice, so de- 
licious that even the Memsahibs sent to buy, 
and spiced sweetmeats that melted on the 
tongue and ravished the palate. 

Day and night he lived among his pies, 
1 8 1 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


until their sweetness seemed to have per- 
meated all his rotund personality. But when 
at last his great ambition was an accomplish- 
ed fact and the bag filled to the brim with 
honest, if somewhat dirty, rupees, he began 
to realize that he was getting old, that he was 
exceedingly fat and that his breathing was on 
occasions somewhat short. These and var- 
ious other motives determined him to seek a 
wife. The result was Narka. 

The girl was lovely, graceful and delicate 
as a palm frond, velvet-skinned and supple, 
and when Nulla married her she was a tall, 
dignified woman of fifteen. And he didn’t 
have much trouble with his wooing, either. 
What part the reputed bag of rupees played 
in the matter, who shall say? But Narka’s 
father welcomed Nulla with both hands and 
eagerly made ready the shadi, according to 
the Mussulman law. The girl was told to 
prepare for the change in her life, and, fol- 
lowing her habits of obedience, she bowed 
her head, and the next day went to the tem- 
ple for purification. 

As she walked swiftly homeward through 
the tortuous, swarming streets, moving with 
long, light steps over the narrow pavement, 
182 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 

now and again answering some salutation or 
congratulation — for the news had already 
spread — a figure stepped quickly out from 
the shadow of an old doorway and followed 
her. She started and trembled, the dark 
blood suffusing her brown cheeks as a voice 
whispered in her ear, "Is it true, Narka?” 

He was tall and slim and comely, full of the 
sensuous magnetism of youth and perfect 
health. His eyes glanced smiling question 
from a tangle of curly black hair as he walk- 
ed beside her. 

Narka gave one quick glance, then drop- 
ped her eyes again. "Yes, Selim, it is true.” 

"Ache bibi, it is well — for thee. They say 
old Nulla has many gold mohurs, and surely 
he will fill thy stomach with sweetmeats and 
much ghee, so that in time thou wilt become 
fat, even as he. Yes, thou dost well, thou 
pretty bul-bul — but what of me?” 

A few nights later Nulla took home his 
bride with much fanfaronade. The whole 
bazaar turned out to honor the procession — 
nautch girls danced and singers sang, chant- 
ing the virtues of the happy pair, to the ac- 
companiment of cymbals, tom-toms and 
much other weird music. Nulla rode in 

183 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


stately pride at the head of the procession, 
and the torches’ flare lit on many a jewel that 
the bunniahf had lent for the occasion — aye, 
and once flashed on a falling tear as the bride 
shrank back from the inquisitive glare. 

And long after Nulla and his bride had 
passed within their own door the bazaar kept 
carnival, for Nulla had bestowed his bak- 
sheesh with a free hand. There was much 
dancing and singing and laughter, and Nulla’s 
hired men showered sweetmeats on the 
crowd till even the babies could eat no more. 
And gayest of the gay was Selim. 

So Narka went to the home of Nulla, and 
his love for her grew day by day, until she 
became as the light of his life. He preferred 
the taste of the curry stuff and dhall that her 
pretty brown fingers had touched, and pri- 
vately thought her sweetmeats infinitely 
sweeter than his own. 

He was little better than a well-to-do 
coolie, after all, and their house was small 
and dark, the rooms ever smoky and full of 
the smell of cooking — decidedly a poor set- 
ting for such a pretty gem as Narka. Still, 
she was used to no better, and quickly slip- 
ped into the dignity of her position and be- 
184 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 

gan to take pride in the arrangement of her 
new domain. 

No, it wasn’t much of a place — three or 
four badly lighted rooms, covered with a few 
rough pieces of matting; a strong box or 
two, a couple of tables, with legs of jungle 
wood, and a few other rough bamboo articles 
completed the furniture, while hanging from 
the smoke-black rafters were vessels of ghee 
(clarified butter) and rough sugar, which, if 
placed on the floor, were likely to be attacked 
by ants. Not much of a place, but such as it 
was she was its mistress, and it filled her with 
a sense of pride that drove away the shadow 
of many another unwelcome thought. 

And Nulla would come in from his ovens 
to gaze at her as she tripped about her kitchen 
work, the big silver anklets making music 
for her pretty, slender, naked feet; but always 
before he could gaze his fill the tyrannical pies 
would demand his presence again. 

Later the baby came, a fine, chubby boy. 
And Nulla's cup seemed full as the tiny mite 
of humanity crowed and spluttered in his 
arms; and, full of gratitude, he went to the 
temple and offered sacrifice. 

“Narka bibi, watch the tray, sweet, or my 
185 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


rotis will burn; 1 ’ and he hurried back to the 
ovens, while Narka busied herself with the 
sweetmeats that were ordered for a great 
tamasha. 

“Who think you I saw to-day?” he asked, 
returning. 

“Nay, I cannot say.” 

“Hech, hech, thy old friend, the boy Selim. 
He has been away at Lahore, as thou knowest, 
and spoke me to-day. He will call and see 

his old playmate Ah, child, what is it? 

Burned thy pretty fingers? Nay, nay, rest a 
moment. See thy son, thy sturdy son, would 
kiss thee better.” 

“It’s nothing. Only a little burn, and I am 
foolish. The rains are due, and you know 
how hardly they affect me for a while. Nay, 
do not stay; I smell my foolish bread again.” 

Ah, Nulla, you poor fool, to bring that 
young hawk to your dovecote! Stand aside, 
you round, fat ball — or, better still, go back 
to your ghee and your curry stuff. Your 
head is too simple and your soul too honest 
to understand a traitor. 

So Selim came, and laughed and joked and 
played with the baby, while Nulla looked on 
with beaming face and rallied his wife at 
1 86 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


night because of her coldness to their guest. 
His whole being was full of love for her, and 
he had no idea in his simple soul but that 
she was equally wrapped up in him. Only 
Selim smiled at the baby and showed his 
white teeth. 

And Narka struggled and fluttered like a 
bird in the toils of a snake. Though only a 
poor, ignorant little coolie girl, she was 
molded for better things than the gutter. But 
in Selim’s hands she was well-nigh helpless. 
He played upon her with his subtle, magnetic 
force and moved her almost as he would; 
but even when he thought her won some- 
thing in the girl rose up— the diviner self that 
leavened her — and baffled him. 

Once or twice he spoke to her of the chest 
where Nulla was reported to have secured 
his wonderful wealth, questioned her joking- 
ly as to its value; but as she knew nothing, 
there was nothing to tell, and he turned his 
attention to Nulla himself. His host, how- 
ever, though talkative — even garrulous on 
most subjects — had all the coolie’s caution 
where his rupees were concerned, and, when 
pressed, would blankly deny their existence. 
He kept the usual ring of keys hanging from 
187 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


his waist, and Selim had eyed them hungrily 
many a time, endeavoring to fix on the one 
that most probably would fit the box. 

Any ordinary box would have given him 
no trouble, as he was skilled in such little 
matters; but this particular one was made 
cunningly and with skillful craft, and hitherto 
had baffled all his surreptitious attempts at 
investigation. Meantime he continued his 
relations with both Nulla and his wife and 
waited for his opportunity. 

Narka was wretched. Selim’s strong mag- 
netic personality appealed to her own at 
every point, and his vivacity, wit and grace- 
ful manners were in such utter and continual 
contrast to poor old Nulla’s heavy good na- 
ture that gradually something like contempt 
rose in the heart of the girl toward her hus- 
band. His simple, stupid good-nature and 
continual tenderness irritated her, while Selim, 
by his subtle methods, gradually gained more 
and more ascendency over her. He rarely 
made open love — that would have startled 
the girl. Sometimes he would not see her 
for days, then a glance, a whispered word or 
a spray of white jasmine — that was all. But 
the warm, passionate nature of the girl re- 
188 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


spondee! continually, even against her wak- 
ing knowledge of higher things. 

Once or twice she made loyal though weak 
attempts to open Nulla’s eyes, but he simply 
would not understand; instead he rebuked 
her sharply for her seeming lack of friend- 
ship toward the young man. And then she 
held her peace. Everything seemed in league 
against her; even the baby would cry for 
Selim — aye, and leave her mother arms to be 
tossed in the air and caressed; to ride aloft 
on the broad, strong shoulders, laughing with 
baby glee, its fat, dimpled fingers buried in 
the man’s black curls. 

Of course the baby loved him — women and 
children always did; but many a man, given 
a favorable opportunity, gladly would have 
proved his hate. And Selim knew it, but 
only smiled his careless smile, for he knew 
that threatened men live long. 

Now, one hot day, Nulla was taking his 
afternoon siesta in the corner of the yard, 
under the banana tree,' whose great cool 
leaves fanned him as he lay. His son, the 
baby Lasha, had |been rolling over him and 
had chanced upon the ring of keys, with 
which he was highly delighted. So Nulla 
189 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 

took off the ring and watched the baby play- 
ing with it, till finally, growing drowsy, he fell 
asleep. 

It was the hour that Selim often chose to 
steal into the quiet house, and talk to Narka. 
They were there now, and his wooing had 
grown bolder and the haunted look in her 
eyes more pathetic. 

“My beautiful queen, you say nothing,” he 
whispered in his softest tone. 

A faint flush rose to her cheeks and she 
dropped her head, then caught her breath 

with a half-sob. She would, yet — yet . 

But Allah was far away and fearful, and she 
was all alone and did not understand. She 
half-turned toward him — he was so strong 
and wise, so brave and true. Ah, he was 
indeed a god worth worshipping! And as 
she turned there came the patter of tiny baby 
feet, accompanied by many a gurgle of de- 
light and the jingle of keys. 

In an instant Selim’s sharp eyes had taken 
in the whole situation, and the baby was in 
his arms; but the crows of delight changed 
to wails of sorrow and anger as the precious 
jingling keys were wrenched roughly away. 

“Here, Narka, quick! Take the child and 
190 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


hush him,” Selim said in great excitement. 

The baby was tossed into her lap, and the 
man crept stealthily out to the yard. Yes, 
there was Nulla, sleeping the sleep of the 
just, his hands folded placidly over his fat 
chest. 

The next moment Selim was back, and 
throwing off all ambiguity, he caught the 
girl in his arms, showering hot kisses on her 
hair, her face and hands. “Narka, my queen, 
my love, come with me, quick! Will you 
come?” 

The girl lay back, dazed, listening to his 
passionate pleading as in a dream, till she 
heard: "See, sweet, the keys of the money 
box. We shall be rich. Quick, my little one! 
There, let me go!” 

But the girl clung to him desperately now, 
her eyes filled with horror. "No, no, Selim, 
if you love me, do not touch the gold. Think, 
he is an old man, thy friend — and — and he 
has been good to me. Ah, Selim, spare him 
something ” 

"You little fool!” he hissed, "how should 
we live? Besides, he has more. Let me go, 
you fool!” 

“Arre, no, no! See, I will work for thee 

l 9' 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 


till ” but he thrust her from him with a 

snarl and made for the box. 

Once more Narka sprang to him, twisting 
her arms round his neck, and begged and 
pleaded. “I love you, I love you. I will fol- 
low you — work, beg, starve for you; but spare 
him, spare him, for his days are many!” 

As she clung and prayed and Selim strug- 
gled to unloose her hold a shadow fell across 
the doorway and swayed uncertain, back and 
forth, on the mud wall. Both were too en- 
grossed to see it till a baby's shrill cry roused 
them, and little Lasah ran weeping to his 
mother’s aid. 

Selim half-turned at the frightened baby's 
cry, to hush it; then saw that great swaying 
shadow. With an oath he wrenched himself 
free, and, striking Narka a blow, he sprang 
to the door and out beyond poor Nulla, who 
stood, shivering and swaying, at the lintel as 
though struck by the chill of death. 

When Narka came back from the land of 
dreams she found her baby watching her 
and Nulla tending her with loving words and 
gentle service. And as she saw them so she 
cursed herself and would have died, but love 
restrained her. 


192 


ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 

Nulla never told her what he had heard at 
the door; but when she clung to him in the 
darkness of the night and whispered it all 
out in sobbing gasps great tears rolled down 
his cheeks. 

“Narka, Narka,’’ he murmured, brokenly, 
“you never loved me, never loved me, and I 
could not blame you.” 

“Ah, forgive, forgive!” she sobbed. “I 
know now what I have lost. But let me be 
thy slave; do not put me away from thee or I 
shall die.” 

She could not finish, for he caught her to 
his heart and held her close, knowing that, 
despite all, it was his fate to love her always. 
And as he held her thus their lips met, and 
she knew that she was forgiven. 

And Selim? He left Bombay and passed 
forever out of their lives. It was inconvenient 
— for him. Still, what matter? He was young 
and comely as a sun-god; and — well, there 
were other girls as pretty and perhaps more 
foolish everywhere. 







I 


\ 



THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 



THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


He stood on a hill over against the British 
camp and defied the whole army — infantry, 
cavalry and artillery — to moral combat in 
such picturesquely blasphemous language as 
only a crazy hillsman would be capable of; 
this was followed by the crack of his jezail 
and the ping of flying bullets; and though 
nobody was hurt, still the camp was in a state 
of continual confusion, and all owing to a 
crazy fanatic who fancied he had a 
grudge against us, saved up probably, from 
the first Afghan war. 

We had been under canvas for two months 
among the foot-hills, and for the last week of 
that time had been kept awake night after 
night by the energetic gentleman on top of 
the hill; the first couple of nights it was look- 
ed on as a huge joke, many of the men 
cheering him on and encouraging him in bad 
Hindostanie, but when the racket kept up 
night after night, and the chap began to get 
197 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


his eye in, so that the bullets occasionally 
ripped through the tents, they weren’t quite 
so complaisant and various attempts were 
made to dis'odge him. But when we had 
made a long and painful detour and come to 
the spot — as near as we could judge — where 
he had last been heard from, we would hear 
the faint echo of his jeering curses wind- 
borne from the opposite hillside. He was a 
regular will-o-wisp, and while the men 
grumbled and cursed — as became British 
soldiers — at the long, fruitless tramps after 
the enemy, still, I doubt even had they got a 
fair sight on him, if he would have been hit, 
such was their half angry admiration for his 
stupendous cheek. 

But there came a night when his luck de- 
serted him; a night when the moon cast a 
half cloudy light over the camp and we were 
wondering if we were to hear from our en- 
terprising friend or not; not that he was given 
to disappointing us, but so far his seances 
had been dark ones and we had been expect- 
ing that the new moon would put a limit to 
his mad pranks; but suddenly on the night 
air were borne the first shrill notes of our 
usual nocturnal concert, “Yaa-ahya yaa-ahaua- 
198 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

yaa,” a long, dismally wailing cry, followed 
by, "Ya-a-a, Kuttae ke buchae hither aow, 
hither aow aum bolta,” which being translated 
means something like, “Yah, you sons of 
dogs, come out; come out I say!” 

Then followed the regular invidious re- 
marks regarding our great-grandmothers, our 
aunt’s sister’s cousins, etc., together with 
concise information concerning their present 
place of abode; and so on down the family 
tree to our most unworthy selves, who were 
apparently following successfully in our illus- 
trious progenitor’s unhallowed footprints. 

These unkind observations were punctured 
by the crack of his rifle, and the occasional 
zing of a bullet over our heads naturally add- 
ed to the interest of the entertainment. But 
suddenly, sharp and clear over among the 
hills, rang out the report of a Martini; a Mah- 
ratta curse ended in a cry of agony, and 
somewhere back in the shadow of the woods 
we heard the sound of a body falling head- 
long. 

The next morning a fatigue party brought 
him in, and he was laid out on the parade 
ground; a fine looking, well-put-up young- 
ster, and on his chest was traced, in thin blue 
199 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


lines, a square and in the square a strange 
looking symbol or hieroglyphic. 

Some of the Sepoys were called up to say, 
if possible, who he was, or to what tribe he 
belonged, but all except one old water car- 
rier seemed ignorant, and though they made 
various suggestions regarding him, they were 
all too palpably guesses to be treated serious- 

!y- 

Roglam, the old water carrier, however, 
had more to say; he had been something of a 
wanderer in his time and spoke of a power- 
ful tribe or rather aboriginal race, living in 
the fastnesses of the hills. The Khonds had 
never been tributary, and had held their own 
against Hindu and Mussulman, Persian and 
Afghan alike, swooping down on the plains 
with a wild barbaric rush, and crossing arms 
with the warriors of the great Augunzermund 
himself; then, ere that giant could grasp and 
crush them, they would melt away, like a 
frosty breath in the sunlight, and if pursued, 
the rocks would fall upon the enemy. Aye, 
and report said that mighty mountain storms 
would rise and howl and sweep the rocky 
passes clean as a sun-bleached bone; for 
their high priest the great Janni was the ser- 
200 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


vant of Tari Pennu, the earth goddess, who 
ruled the rocks, and her husband Boora, the 
master of the stormy winds. 

While wandering over the eastern chain of 
Ghauts, old Roglam had come on a Khond 
village and being poor and peaceful they had 
received him kindly and allowed him to stay 
among them and eat and drink in peace. 
And there was a feast of Tari Pennu while 
he still dwelt there, and he was permitted to 
sit without the sacred circle in their temple, 
which was merely a great altar for sacrifice, 
in a grove of trees that axe had never touch- 
ed, and had seen the Janni mark a young 
man with the same square and inner sign 
that was on the chest of this dead youth, and 
then the waiting multitude fell down wor- 
shipping the young man, for the Janni said 
that Tari Pennu had accepted him, and that 
he was a sacred meriah from henceforth. 
And the man’s kin stood forth and swore 
that should any one harm him they would 
avenge him or themselves die by their own 
hands. The young man was then turned 
loose to follow his own sweet will, and all 
Khonds would minister to his wants till Tari 
Pennu called him, when he would return to 


201 


The sign of tari rennu. 

his altar and give up his life to his people. 

Such was the pith of the story old Roglam 
told in the orderly room, and I, being on 
guard there, heard it with my own ears, and 
saw the colonel glance at Lieutenant Wilson, 
and saw the lieutenant shrug his shoulders. 

They questioned Roglam closely, but he 
evidently spoke in good faith, and said further 
that he had met these holy ones, or meriahs, 
many times in his travels, and that they all 
were marked with the sign of Tari Pennu, 
that they married and lived like other men, 
and that when their children were born they 
also became meriahs, and were so marked, 
and after that, none other than the son or 
daughter of a slain meriah might avenge him, 
not even the Janni himself, and if within a cer- 
tain time they did not, then their own life was 
forfeit in place of the slayer’s. 

This was all we could get from the old 
fellow, and after so much had come out, the 
rest of the natives turned shy of the body, 
and it was buried that afternoon just outside 
camp by English privates. 

Before night the story of the man’s end 
was known all over camp. Lieutenant Wilson 
had been out after game among the foot-hills 
202 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

that afternoon, and was returning in the late 
evening smoking a cigar when a bullet 
whistled past his head; he didn't wait for 
another, but dropped in his tracks and rolled 
noiselessly among the bushes for a few yards. 
The ruse succeeded, for, though all was silent 
for a few minutes, the wild chant that he 
knew by heart soon rose wailing on the wind, 
and he could hear the bushes parting as the 
man came to find what loot there was on the 
hated “Gora walla” he had shot. Wilson tried 
to stalk him and take him prisoner, but the 
man’s eyes and ears were too quick, and he 
got a bullet that ripped his puggery up for 
his pains and then the crazed man rushed 
him like a mad boar, with a wicked looking 
knife in his hand. There was no other way, 
so the soldier fired, and the man, with a 
horrible broken curse went reeling back, his 
body crashing through the underbrush. Then 
all was still. 

That night the whole camp settled down to 
rest after taps with the conviction that all the 
fun was ovei*, and a feeling of half pity for 
the poor devil who had provided it to his 
cost. 

I, 'then a lance-corporal) was doing sentry- 
203 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


go among the officer’s tents and am ready to 
swear that not the shadow of a cat could have 
entered the lines at that point while I was on 
duty. The guard was relieved at midnight 
and I was just turning in when the silence 
was broken by the wild wail we had learned 
to know so well. What was it? the voice of 
the dead hillsman? In an instant the whole 
camp was in commotion; never before had 
the cry roused such excitement; it seemed 
to wake the whole brigade instantly to active 
life. From all quarters of the camp the men 
came with a rush; lights gleamed everywhere; 
hoarse calls to order met with no response, 
while the elephants of the battery, catching 
the fever, added their wild trumpeting to the 
general confusion, and a half-asleep young 
troop-bugler sounding “boots and saddles’ 
completed the business. 

For ten minutes pandemonium reigned 
then discipline began to tell and gradually* 
the men formed companies under the sharp 
stern orders^ of their officers, and stood to 
attention out there on the parade ground. 

I doubt if such a queer looking lot of sol- 
diers ever gathered on parade before; from 
the colonel down their garb was unique, if 
204 


THE SIGN OF TARI FENNU. 

not quite up to army regulations. There 
were not three pairs of trowsers in my whole 
company, and I remember the tension in our 
vicinity was relieved just at the right moment 
by the second lieutenant as he came down 
the line in a brother officer’s helmet, shout- 
ing at the men, his sword drawn and waving 
majestically, while the top half of his pajamas 
flapped about his very slender shanks. It 
was just enough, and a loud guffaw ran down 
the line. 

Meantime the usual stream of curses, with 
now and again the crack of that vicious old 
rifle, came floating down to us, and continued 
long after order had been restored and the 
men were under cover again. 

I lay listening to the weird cry that faintly 
penetrated to the guard tent, and through 
the blanket that I had drawn up round my 
ears to shut it out. Towards dawn I must 
have fallen asleep, for I woke with a start to 
find Jones, the man who had relieved me at 
midnight, bending over me and shaking me. 

“Hello Tom, what’s up now?" 

“Say Bill, dress quick and come outside. 
There’s been some queer game on last night; 
step easy and don’t wake the chaps till we 
205 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


see what to do. Careful, don’t make a noise.” 

I dressed in a hurry and followed him out 
into the chilly dawn, and on till we came to 
the first lieutenant’s tent, and there I stood in 
open mouthed astonishment ; for fastened 
across the flap of the tent was a piece of old 
yellow linen and stained on it was a great 
square and in the center of the square, the 
same mark that we had seen on the dead 
hillsman’s chest. 

“ Well, what d’ye think of that fur divil’s 
work, eh, Bill ?” 

“ Blest if I know, old man,” I whispered 
back. “ Better run in and report ; I’ll stay 
here till you come back.” 

Five minutes later the sergeant of the 
guard was on the spot and, receiving no 
answer to his calls, he raised the flap of the 
tent and peered cautiously in, while we 
gathered close, fearing we knew not what. 
Our alarm vanished quickly, for the sickly 
gleam of the hanging lamp, struggling feeb- 
ly with the growing dawn, fell on the face 
of the young officer sleeping peacefully on 
his cot, and the whole interior of the tent 
was so evidently undisturbed that we with- 
drew without waking him and the orderly 
206 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

officer having been notified of the matter, 
quietly took down the linen and after or- 
dering the strictest silence on the subject, 
went to the colonel’s tent. 

A little later the reveille sounded and the 
camp was in the throes of waking; my im- 
mediate duties took up all my attention for 
the next hour, but directly after breakfast 
fatigue parties were ordered out to scour 
the hills. 

It seemed as if it were going to be the 
usual thing, but the events of the early 
morning were enough to keep my interest 
alive, especially as I was in the command 
under Lieut. Wilson, and he gradually led 
us round to the spot where the hillsman 
had fallen. Here we scattered and began a 
long search, covering almost every yard of 
ground, and even beating up the long grass 
and undergrowth, so determined was the 
colonel to have the whole woods cleared. 

Of course discipline was not very severe; 
the men straggled and laughed, looking on 
it as a good exchange from the usual mo- 
notonous drill. I was jogging along a few 
yards to the left of the lieutenant, when 
suddenly something white caught my eye 
207 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


back among the rocks; one glance and I 
threw up my rifle and fired, while at the 
same instant a puff of smoke broke from 
the rocks and with a sharp cry Wilson 
staggered and almost fell, but waved me 
off as I ran toward him, and led our rush 
up the hill. 

We were fighting mad now, Wilson al- 
ways had been a favorite with us, and to 
have a deliberate attempt at murder under 
our very noses was more than we could 
stand; yet the sight that met us up there 
took the fight out of the worst of us, for 
there was no wild hillsman, but just a poor 
Mahratta woman writhing in her last mo- 
ments, while beside her a baby girl croon- 
ed over an old rifle that her mother’s nerve- 
less hands had dropped. 

We stood chilled with a sudden awe, till 
Wilson grabbed a water bottle and ran 
toward her; but as she saw him coming 
her fast glazing eyes grew fierce once more, 
and when he knelt beside her, she half 
raised herself and cursed him till our blood 
ran cold; aye, and would have struck him 
as he stooped to her, but the child, the baby 
girl, had drawn near, attracted perhaps by 
208 


THE SIGN OF TAR1 PENNU. 

the glittering buttons on his coat — and with 
a sudden soft coo, she snuggled in his arms. 
Then the woman’s raised arm fell, her curses 
were broken with a moan of terror, and she 
fell back on the rock unconscious. 

We did our best to save her, but my bullet 
had gone too true, and she died within an 
hour. 

Wilson carried the child back to camp in 
his own arms, despite the pain of his wound, 
for she would go to no one else. Arrived 
there, he turned her over to some of his na- 
tive servants, with whom she grew and 
throve, as the years passed developing into a 
comely young girl, and showing an affection- 
ate gratitude for her protector’s care that 
was, under the circumstances, almost pa- 
thetic. 

In the course of time Wilson sent her 
away to school at Poonah and in every way 
showed his intention to make up for her early 
loss; and, as time and steady work had 
brought his promotion and he was now at 
the head of his regiment, with a colonel’s 
epaulets on his shoulders, he was able to 
command more consideration for the girj 
than might otherwise have been possible. 

209 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

While the matter never was referred to 
between us, still I was conscious of a bond 
of sympathy between Wilson and myself, 
ever since that shot that saved his life and 
killed the child’s mother; he had pressed on 
me the importance of taking a certain num- 
ber of exams, and to please him I had studied 
hard, and later my promotion had kept pace 
for pace with his own. Still never by so 
much as a hint did I gather what he thought 
of that strange business, and it was not till 
the beginning of the sequel that I learned 
how he brooded over the matter as only a 
deeply sensitive nature could. 

It was during her second term at Poonah 
that the colonel received a short wild letter 
from the girl, bidding him goodbye, and in 
her warm impulsive way, declaring again 
and again her gratitude to and her love for 
him; but of where or why she was going, 
there was but one word and that was — fate; 
her fate had overtaken her and she must 
follow it though it made her heart bleed to 
leave her friend — her master. 

I saw the colonel’s dogcart with the big 
roan in a white lather, dashing down the 
station road; he usually was thoughtful of 
210 


THE SIGN OF TARI TENNU. 


his beasts, but he was lashing the roan 
through the mid-day heat as though the 
fiend were in him, and his sais told me later 
that he had managed to jump aboard the 
express just as it was steaming out of the 
station. 

On his return he sent for me and told me 
what he knew and what he suspected, and it 
was a short story. The principal of the school 
had no clue whatever, in fact the girl was 
only missed when he arrived; every one, the 
police included, was completely in the dark. 
I learned for the first time that the girl was 
marked with the mysterious sign; that she 
had complained several times of some 
strange force that seemed to possess her and 
dominate her will and desires. Wilson had 
laughed at her and tried to shame her out of 
the idea, but had been most anxious, as he 
seemed to believe from the beginning that 
there was some mesmeric force being used 
on the child, and for this reason he had sent 
her so far away to school, hoping that the 
different surroundings would break the 
influence, if indeed any were at work. 

During several subsequent conversations, 
I found that he had satisfied himself as to 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


the reality and possible power of the influence 
symbolized by the sacred sign of the Khonds. 
During the past years he never had been 
allowed to forget that he rested under its 
curse. On several occasions the sign had 
been conveyed to him mysteriously and 
intimations given that sooner or later his 
life would be forfeited. Why they had not 
struck before seemed doubtful, unless they 
had determined, as also seemed in keeping 
with their methods, on making the child 
whom he loved the avenger of the dead 
meriah; for the hand that placed the symbol 
on his breast, while he lay sleeping at the 
Apollo Hotel in Bombay, might as easily 
have buried a dagger there. 

The thing that seemed to hurt him most 
however — for he was as sensitive in some 
things as a woman — was the fact that he 
always was shunned by the natives; servants 
— other than trained army men — would not 
stay with him, and the very children in the 
bazaars drew away with an awe that the fact 
of his being “Burra Sahib” could not account 
for. Once or twice he almost had given up 
and gone home, but though he was tempted 
he put the thought away, like the brave 
212 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


soldier he was, as unworthy, and stayed on 
and faced his unseen foes as best he might, 
never knowing what moment the sword 
would descend. He kept his face bright and 
his front brave, and if he ever quailed, no 
man knew. 

It seemed to relieve him to talk to me, and 
we grew closer, as man to man, and I swore 
in my heart that I would stand by him if ever 
the time came, though I confess I had not 
half his reverence for the curse; that there 
was some jadoo, some deviltry afloat I 
hardly could doubt, but Lord! we were 
British soldiers and I at least, despite my 
experience, had a great leaven of “Tommy’s” 
contempt for the “heathen naygur.” 

The colonel seemed unable to get over 
the loss of the girl whom he had grown to 
love like a daughter, and after ailing for some 
weeks was suddenly taken ill; he recovered 
sufficiently to be moved to the hills and I 
went along, the doctor promising to look us 
up in a day or so. We found the bungalow 
prepared for us most comfortable and the 
servants anxious to stand well with the 
“Burra Sahib,” and I hoped that a couple of 
weeks of the delightfully cool breezes would 
213 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


put the invalid on his legs again. Everything 
seemed so peaceful and quiet after the con- 
finement of the barracks that I think we all 
slept more confidently than in months before. 
I had pretty nearly settled in my own mind 
that the chief cause of the colonel’s trouble 
was overwork, little dreaming that the end 
was even then upon us. 

I noticed ©n rising one morning that the 
bungalow was strangely silent, and yet the 
sun was well up, and on dressing I found that 
the whole place apparently was deserted. I 
walked through the compound to the ser- 
vants quarters, only to find them gone, bag 
and baggage, while my calls remained un- 
answered, save by the screaming of the par- 
rots in the mango trees. 

Angry and puzzled, I returned to the house 
and saw the cause of the exodus — it had es- 
caped my eye on leaving — a piece of yellow 
linen, such as I once before had seen, and on 
it was stained the square, and inside, the 
mark of Tari Pennu. I stood staring, half 
stupefied for a few moments; the thing had 
come so strangely, like a sudden storm out 
of a clear sky and it bewildered me. 

I was roused by Stephens, the colonel’s 
214 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


Eurasian major domo, who joined me and 
stood looking at the ugly portent. “Well, 
that cursed thing’s come again, eh!” 

“Yes." I answered, “it’s come and all those 
black curs have gone; left us in a pretty 
fine hole; how we are going to manage is 
more than I know. How’s the colonel this 
morning?” I added, as I tore the wretched 
thing down. 

“Not so well. I was up several hours in 
the night with him and that’s how I’m so late. 
I think he’s got a slight relapse, and I feel 
rather anxious about him. When will the 
doctor be up?” 

“Not for several days, worse luck. Better 
keep this thing quiet; it’ll only worry him and 
do no earthly good.” 

It proved true; he had a bad relapse and 
toward afternoon grew delirious; so Stephens 
and I took turns with him and at the general 
work of the place. We were thirty miles 
from the railroad, and had come by dak, so 
it was useless to think of getting help till the 
doctor took it into his head to put in an 
appearance. I was more anxious and wor- 
ried than I can tell; the least noise made me 
start, and yet I don’t know what I feared. 

215 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

That night, after rousing Stephens to take 
his turn with the colonel, I went out on the 
veranda to have a smoke before turning in; 
the “cheeks” were half raised and the moon 
was sailing high overhead, throwing the 
whole place into sharp contrasts of black and 
white. A wolf howled dismally away in the 
shadows, and the occasional cry of some 
night bird broke sharply on the stillness. 
Once a jackal trotted out into the moonlit 
compound, stopped, sniffed a moment with 
his nose well in the air, then turned tail and 
scampered back into the shade of the lemon 
trees. I remember vaguely wondering if he 
had smelled my tobacco, and then woke with 
a start as my pipe fell from my hand and 
rolled on the floor. I was in the act of 
stretching myself with a yawn, when my arms 
were arrested half way up, and I nearly jump- 
ed out of my chair with fright, for crouched 
in the shadow of the railing almost at my 
feet, was a figure — a woman, by her dress. 

“Who are you?” I gasped. And then she 
startled me still more, for she slowly rose 
and faced me, and it was Loocha, the girl 
we had lost. At first I did not know her in 
her native dress, and when I did, she stared 
216 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

at me so strangely that I was confused, and 
when I would have touched her, she drew 
back and waved me off. “Wait! I have much 
to say.” She spoke in the vernacular, and in 
a low tone questioned me concerning the 
colonel. I told her all; all my fears for his 
health and safety, but she interrupted me 
passionately. 

“And is it not just, the curse that follows 
him? A murderer!” 

“What!” I cried in amazement, (I did not 
know that the story of her parent’s tragic end 
had been kept from her by the colonel) “You 
reproach him, your friend, your guardian, 
and he perhaps lies dying?” But she did not 
soften; only muttered, “He killed my father, 
and for him, you killed my mother. It is 
just.” 

“And why, if you feel so, have you come?” 
I demanded; “perhaps to gloat over his 
death,” for I was very bitter. 

“And if so, it were just.” She muttered back. 

“Just! just! Child, you do not know what 
you talk of; leave these things to men; for if 
this curse be true, he stands, one man who 
has loved you and grieved for you, against 
many; there is enough without your added 
21 7 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

hand." And then I told her the whole story 
of her parents’ end, and she questioned and 
doubted but in the end I think, believed; 
what she had been told by the others I never 
knew. Then I took her in to see him and 
she stood looking moodily, with her dress 
drawn across her face, as he lay moaning in 
his sleep; and just then he called her. 
Whether he felt her presence who shall say? 
But he pleaded with her to come to him and 
save him; to let him see his little girl just 
once more before he died. No one listening 
could have doubted the truth and beauty of 
his love for the girl, and slowly her head 
drooped lower and lower, her body swayed 
and she sank on her knees and, with a sob, 
touched her lips to his wasted hand. And 
the sick man smiled in his sleep. 

After that we hardly could get her away 
from his side night or day. I tried to get her 
to tell what she knew and where she had been; 
but she grew so nervous under my questions 
that I was obliged to desist. She took her 
place at the sick man’s side as a matter of 
course and perhaps I looked on her anxiety 
too lightly, so easily one grows used to the 
patient devotion of women to the sick whom 
218 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


they love — but at length her haggard looks 
roused my attention, and I determined to 
send Stephens the next morning to the sta- 
tion for help. 

That night I awoke with an uneasy feeling 
of something wrong, and slipping on a dress- 
ing gown, I stepped lightly across to the col- 
onel’s room, drew the curtains quietly back 
and then stood still in surprise. The lights 
were burning brightly, while Loocha, with 
her back to me, was bending over the sick 
man, earnestly engaged in something that 
engrossed her whole attention. There was 
a little black case lying on the bed quilt, 
and I caught the glint of steel in her hand. 

I stepped noiselessly behind her, even as 
she drew back with a sigh of relief which 
changed to a faint scream as my hand fell on 
her arm. I gripped her harshly, fearing I knew 
not what, and then glanced back and forth 
from the girl to the man, in strange perplexity, 
for he was sleeping quietly, soundly — the bed 
clothes rolled down to his waist, while his 
chest was exposed and swollen with an angry 
inflammation. Bending closer I saw that the 
red was touched with purple lines, and the 
mystery grew plain; he was tattooed with the 
219 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


familiar mark of the goddess Tari Pennu. 

I turned to her fiercely then. “You traitor!” 

She looked puzzled for a moment at my 
anger, then gave her shoulders a weary 
shrug and stood mutely by while I heaped 
my fury on her. Her forlornness should have 
touched me, but I was fearful and so, I am 
afraid, brutal. 

When I demanded an explanation, she 
drew herself up proudly and with a glance of 
scorn said, “You have found one for your- 
self; I will not contradict my Lord.” And 
would say no more. 

I took her to her room and locked her in, 
barring the shutters so she could not escape, 
and roused Stephens, though the dawn had 
not yet come, and sent him posting away to 
the station. Then I went back to the colonel 
and found him still sleeping quietly. I had 
no doubt but that drugs had been used; but 
his pulse was steady and his brow moist. So 
I waited and watched through the live-long 
day, taking some food to the girl and laying 
it inside her door without a word; for my 
heart was very bitter against her. Once I 
heard her moving, and listening, caught the 
sound of quiet sobbing; then all was still. 


220 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


At dusk I took her more food, and enter- 
ing, set it down, glancing at the bed as I did 
so. I could see her lying there, a white heap 
in the gloom, and something in the quiet 
misery of the pose, or perhaps it was the 
memory of those childish sobs, made me 
pause, and I spoke to her, but she would not 
answer. So I left her alone in the dark once 
more. God forgive me! But how could I 
know? it all looked so black against her. 

Late that night Stephens came back and 
we watched together through the long night, 
and in the morning the sick man woke with . 
the fever gone, and in his right mind, smiling 
gladly though feebly at us; and before the 
sun was up the doctor came too. He had 
crossed our message and got to us just as 
the patient had pulled through, but you may 
be sure we were none the less glad to see 
him; so glad in fact, that we clean forgot the 
girl in the quiet, darkened room beyond, till 
the Colonel himself mentioned her as a 
dream of his fever. 

Then I drew the doctor aside and told him 
all, and we went together to her room, un- 
locked the door and entered. 

A stray sunbeam had found its way 
221 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 

through the closed shutters, and touched 
her quietly and lovingly. Something in her 
attitude struck me then and I turned sick 
and cold as the doctor, with a sharp exclama- 
tion, strode hurriedly to her side. He lifted 
her gently, touched her eyes, drew back her 
lips, then laid her down again and sighed, 
“Poor little maid,” and then again, “Poor 
little maid.” 

She had been dead for hours. Aye, she 
must have been passing when I spoke to her 
the previous evening, and with never a lov- 
ing word to speed her, she went out on her 
lonely way. 

She left a letter for the Colonel, bidding 
him goodbye and telling him that it was the 
only way; that she was bound by the laws of 
her people to avenge that long past killing, 
and, when she did not understand, had 
sworn to do so, or to pay the debt herself. And 
so she made her choice and set him free 
because she loved him. 

We kept the matter from the Colonel for 
several months, explaining the marks on his 
chest as a ruse we had thought of to protect 
him in case of sudden danger. The doctor 
took the body away with him to Poonah, 
2?2 


THE SIGN OF TARI PENNU. 


where he saw that it was decently buried. 

Both the Colonel and I have been on the 
pension list many long years. He knows 
the whole story now. He never was molest- 
ed again in any way before we left India, 
and we have come to wonder if the little girl 
who died so tragically, did not give her life 
for a shadow after all. She had a delicate, 
sensitive temperament, and was strangely 
susceptible to external influences; that they 
were brought to bear on her in some man- 
ner seems beyond doubt, but for us it has 
remained a closed book. If we had touched 
on a mystery, it was but one of many such 
that spring to life in that strange land; and 
yet none are greater than that world- wide 
one, that we all know so well, and call love. 





THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT 



THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 


His name was Barramphut — Dr. Y. Barram- 
phut, a thin swarthy man whose mouth and 
chin were concealed by a heavy growth of 
black hair, and whose eyes were equally 
guarded by a pair of strongly magnifying 
spectacles. He was introduced one night at 
our Literary Club, and strangely enough, just 
as some few of us were discussing the doc- 
trines of a certain Hindoo teacher, who had 
tarried among us awhile, and who, if he had 
not made actual converts, certainly had given 
us much food for thought and debate, and 
had left us pretty evenly divided in opinion 
as to whether our late guest was merely a 
well-read, plausible fakir, or indeed a true 
teacher of mysteries beyond the common 
human ken. 

The credulity of some of my clubmates 
astonished me. I had studied our Hindoo 
friend as a case of mental aberration; being 
a doctor, the case had interested me, but 
227 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 


when I found that the result of his vaporing 
was likely to be an epidemic of puerile Orient- 
al, so-called, occultism; that some of my 
best friends were dieting and going in for 
courses of breathing and so on, other than 
those ordained by nature, I gathered the 
few remaining sensible ones and commenced 
an active crusade against the spreading evil. 

On this particular night there were not 
more than eight or ten of us gathered in the 
cozy parlor, and we were in a wide circle round 
a most material and comfortable fire. Out- 
side, the rain was dashing against the win- 
dows with a noise and energy that made it 
necessary to raise the voice in conversation, 
and now and again there was a sudden break 
in our talk when the stormy wind gathered 
force and came rushing down with a thud 
and a bang and wrenched at the shutters, 
and jarred the frame, then drew off and went 
moaning around the corner like some strick- 
en thing. 

We had been talking, I coming last. I had 
just closed my argument with these words. 

“No, gentlemen, the existence of God — 
which you assert — precludes the possibility 
of any mere man, however gifted by nature 
228 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

or learned in art, usurping His power , over- 
turning His laws and dominating his brother 
men for good or evil as he wills. They may 
fool the uneducated — the superstitious many 
— but what about the others, the men of 
science, the trained observers? If these 
powers exist, why do they not show them- 
selves to those who can test them? Accord- 
ing to Nicarro, our Buddhist friend, they can 
hear these words — this challenge. Will they 
answer it? No! These men-gods or men- 
devils keep well away from Science!” — and 
here came one of the wind-rushes that shook 
the house to its very foundations; and as 
it rushed whirling round the chimney-tops, 
it seemed to toss the words to and fro and 
tear them in its eldritch mirth — “From 
Science, from Science!” 

I had paused in my speech at the rush of 
the storm, and as its wild gust died, I turned 
half round in my chair and saw Dr. Barram- 
phut standing silently in the doorway. 

I suppose he had been announced while 
the storm was making such a clatter, though 
I could not help wondering as I looked at 
his impenetrable face, how much of my speech 
he had heard as he stood there. His person- 
229 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 


ality was in keeping with the manner of his 
coming, and both impressed me unfavorably. 
As he advanced toward the firelit circle a 
vague impression of disquiet rose in my 
breast, as though some subtle, inner element 
recognized an enemy — an answerer of my 
challenge. 

He was introduced by the man who had 
invited him, and as I answered his salutation, 

I found myself puzzling as to the kind of 
eyes that looked out from behind those 
heavily convex glasses; as it was, I felt at a 
disadvantage; they were scrutinizing, probing 
me; seeking out my weak spots, even while 
the modulated voice spoke gently — “Ah, a 
brother scientist, most happy, etc.” How the 
devil did he know I was a scientist, unless he 
guessed it from overhearing my speech while 
he stood at the door. 

The man sat among us there and talked 
quietly and well; he had evidently been a 
great traveler, and learning the subject of the 
evening’s discussion, related a number of 
wonderful incidents which he professed ac 
tually to have seen himself, during his wan- 
derings in India and Thibet. These “experi- 
ences,” as he was pleased to call them, were 


230 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

for the most part utterly useless violations of 
the laws of nature, such as throwing a 
silken rope in the air and then climbing to 
the top, drawing the slack rope up and again 
flinging it beyond, and so climbing to the 
clouds and disappearing. When I expressed 
incredulity he seemed surprised, and asked 
if I had never heard of such things before. 
I acknowledged that I had, but had merely 
heard of them as vague childish stories, not 
worth the trouble of an educated man’s re- 
futation. Just here the waiter called me to 
the telephone and I went gladly, as the argu- 
ment had grown warm and personal and I 
could not help fancying that the man had 
some motive in making me lose my temper; 
he even followed me out into the hall while 
I was putting on my overcoat and continued 
his absurd arguments, but I pushed uncere- 
moniously by him and got out to my cab, 
cursing him under my breath for a crazy old 
fool. 

It was a call from my hospital that had 
brought me out, and when I got there I 
found a bad case of compound fracture — of 
the tibia, if I remember rightly. It was a 
couple of hours before I was free, and then 
231 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

seeing that the storm had cleared and it was 
bright moonlight, I turned up my coat collar 
and lighting a cigar, set off on a four mile 
walk home. Now if I had done this once I 
had done it at least five hundred times be- 
fore. After the glare and heat, to say noth- 
ing of the concentrated attention dependent 
on a night operation, that solitary walk 
through the quiet streets was most refresh- 
ing. 

I was thinking of the surgical case I had 
just left during the whole distance, and my 
previous annoyance at our club guest’s in- 
sistent arguments had entirely vanished, in 
fact, I don’t believe the man entered my mind 
again till I was putting my night key in the 
latch, and then a peculiar, repugnant shudder 
ran through me as I recollected the objec- 
tionable spectacles, and I could hardly shake 
off the feeling that they were glaring at me 
now, and that the eyes that they hid were 
full of triumphant malignity. “Bah, the little 
beast!” I said, pushing the door open. 

The gas in the hall was out, and I stood 
fumbling with my hat and gloves in the dark- 
ness; I had just laid them on the hall table, 
when I stood transfixed with surprise. 

232 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

There came the clink of glass, and voices, 
low at first, but growing quickly louder as 
though in altercation. What did it mean? I 
drew back the curtains on my right, and 
peering across the dark room, saw a gleam of 
bright light through the crack of the curtains 
that shut off my library. Creeping cautiously 
across, I had just reached the farther room 
when a savage voice rang out, “You thief! 
that’s your game, is it? Curse you, take 
that!” There was a scuffle and a cry as I 
dragged back the curtains. 

I saw a man lean over a falling table and 
strike another who was sitting opposite, with 
something that flashed like steel, and the 
wounded man fell back with a terrible cry, 
the table crashing on top of him and the de- 
canters, cards and markers flying all over the 
room. Then the other seized a silk hat from 
a chair at his side and turned to go out even 
as I sprang forward to intercept him; he 
struck at me savagely with th_ hat, the hard 
rim catching me over the left eye and fairly 
staggering me for a moment. I caught at 
the hat and wrenched it from him, grappling 
with him at the same time, but he slipped 
out of my grasp like an eel and was gone. I 
233 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

started to follow him, but my professional 
instinct stopped me and I turned back to the 
wounded man. 

Lifting the tablecloth that had covered him, 
I found myself looking into the hairy and 
bespectacled face of — Dr. Barramphut. I 
slipped down on the floor and sat for several 
moments staring at him before I could re- 
cover my nerve; then I examined him. He 
was quite dead — stabbed to the heart. I rose 
up, and the trickling of the blood from my 
cut eye attracted my attention and brought 
my mind to bear on some other aspects of 
the case. What was this man doing in my 
house? in my — Great heavens! that wasn’t 
my writing-desk; and the chair, the lounge — 
all the furniture was strange! What did it 
mean? I hastily struck a light and entered the 
next room; it was utterly unfamiliar, and I 
realized that I must have entered the wrong 
house. 

I went back and gazed at the silent figure 
lying there, and as I did so a feeling of com- 
punction rose in me that we had parted so 
angrily, and from this grew another thought; 
how was I to explain this matter? Might not 
some clumsy official of the police think the 
234 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 


evidence against me sufficient to justify my 
arrest? At any rate, I must not be found here 
with clothes that I saw, even in this dim 
light, were all disarranged by my scuffle and 
spotted with blood from my freely bleeding 
eye; I would secure, as far as possible, my 
safety first, and volunteer my information 
later, when I should be in a position to do so 
without placing myself in a false light. So 
with a handkerchief pressed to my forehead, 
I groped my way out to the front door, closed 
it quietly and walked hastily away. 

When I stopped to consider, it was impos- 
sible to understand how I could have mis- 
taken the street for mine — the house was 
similar and the same fitting key was com- 
monplace — but the street, well, I was quite 
at fault here; there was no name on the 
corner, but it certainly bore very little re- 
semblance to Harlow street, where I lived. 

After turning several corners, however, I 
came on a small familiar square and garden, 
and entered Harlow street at the opposite 
end from that at which I lived, which seem- 
ed to show that I had inadvertently passed 
round it, and so on to the other house. The 
explanation hardly satisfied me, but it was 
235 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 
the best I could evolve in my present condi- 
tion. 

Arrived at my own house — which I veri- 
fied by the number this time, I ran up the 
steps, felt for my keys and found them gone, 
and then I remembered that I had laid them 
and my hat down on the hall table in the 
strange house. I hastily took off the hat I 
was wearing; it was not mine. I looked 
under the lining and the mystery grew, for 
there was a name that I knew well, Harold 
French, a young lawyer, and a clubmate and 
friend of mine. 

I didn’t ring the bell; I felt that the fewer 
people who saw me at present the better, 
but started back to the other house thinking 
I might find some way of regaining my own 
hat and keys before they should be discov- 
ered by the inmates, if they had not found 
them already. It was a quarter to three when 
I left my own door and I walked down one 
street and up another, round squares innum- 
erable, and at five o’clock I had utterly failed 
to find the house where the tragedy had taken 
place. Tired and faint I hired a passing cab 
and drove to a downtown hotel, determining 
to see French in the morning and tell him 
236 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

the whole matter and see what he had to say 
about his hat. 

It was noon before I woke from my deep 
dreamless sleep, and after taking a cup of 
coffee, I set out to find my friend. Fortunate- 
ly I caught sight of him in the club window 
as I passed, and he met me in the hall with 
a cheery “Hello Dickon! you’re a nice beggar 
to run off with other folk’s clothes; gim’me 
my hat! Why, what’s wrong, old chap? you’re 
as white as a ghost. What is it, Dick?” 

I drew him away into the library and told 
him the whole story. He looked at me 
gravely, then rang the bell and ordered a de- 
canter of Brandy; after filling two glasses and 
watching me drink mine he said: 

“Look here, old chap, you’ve got badly off 
somehow; I don’t pretend to understand it, 
but you couldn’t have changed hats at that 
place, because you left yours here; and Dicky, 
you couldn’t have opened that door with 
your keys because old Barramphut picked 
them up on the hearth last night after you’d 
gone, and he ain’t dead — or he wasn’t ten 
minutes ago — ’cause I was talking to him. 
He slept here in the club last night, or rather 
this morning, as we didn’t break up till near- 
2 37 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT 

ly four o’clock; he was showing us some 
jadoo as he cal's it; so while you saw him 
dead he was entertaining us with some 
specimens of the black art. As for the other 
chap — the chap that struck him, I don’t 
know, but it wasn’t I, we were all here to- 
gether.” 

I stared at him in utter bewilderment; what 
did he mean? Had I been asleep and dream- 
ed it all? I put my hand to my aching head 
and my fingers touched the still raw sore; I 
drew his attention to it; he touched it grave- 
ly and then looked at his hat, and we both 
saw that the brim was broken. 

A few minutes later I went into the news 
room with him and in a sunny corner of one 
of the windows sat Dr. Barramphut sleeping 
over a morning paper. As we advanced he 
woke up and, seeing us, said, “Ah Doctor! I 
was just dreaming about you. I’m afraid 
you’ve had a bad night; I always feel it if my 
friends do. Why, you’ve hurt your eye, too! It 
must have been a regular night-mare. Eh 
what? Your keys, oh yes, here they are; I 
picked them up on the hearth. By the bye, I 
should change that latch key, the pattern is 
shockingly common.” 

238 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

For the next week I haunted the locality 
where I believed that strange house to be; I 
wandered there by night and day but never 
found it. Despite the recovery of my hat 
and keys and French’s theory that I had been 
sleep-walking and run into a lamppost and so 
hurt myself and his hat, deep down in my 
inner consciousness I knew that this was not 
the truth. I watched the papers daily for a 
ghastly headline to tell me that the tragedy 
was discovered, but no such headline ever 
appeared, though one morning I found and 
read the following article which may throw 
some light on the subject for those who be- 
lieve in such things; as for me, I am firmly 
convinced that I shall find that house one 
day, and a natural solution of the mystery 
will follow. 

“Dr. Barramphut, the Hindoo pundit, gave 
last evening a most interesting lecture on 
Eastern magic or “jadoo.” The doctor has 
obtained such a world-wide reputation that 
the hall was filled with a most representative 
gathering of scientific men, some twenty of 
whom formed a committee at the doctor’s 
desire. The lecturer, after describing at 
length the most prominent and well known 
239 


THE JADOO OF DR. BARRAMPHUT. 

tricks of the Oriental fakirs, stated that they 
were merely optical illusions, which were 
brought about by the wholesale hypnotizing 
of the audience; and then proceeded to dem- 
onstrate his theory practically, by hypnotizing 
his audience (reporters and committee ex- 
cepted). As far as could be judged from the 
reporters table, he was perfectly successful, 
the whole audience applauding on several 
occasions while the stage was absolutely 
empty; and so certain were they of the reality 
of their visions and sensations, that when 
told later by the reporters that there had been 
no such phenomena as they imagined, they 
had smiled and insisted that the newspaper 
men themselves had been hypnotized or 
they must have seen. The doctor gave a 
description of what he called evil jadoo by 
which a man might be grievously hurt or 
even killed from a distance by certain men- 
tal forces being concentrated on him; this 
seems the most wonderful of all, and we 
must take the doctor’s word for it, as prac- 
tical demonstration manifestly was impossi- 
ble.” 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 





THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


“Which, the dark girl with the rose in her 
hair?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why, that’s the redoubtable Cecil Law- 
rence, surely you’ve met her. No? Well, 
she’s right up with the band-wagon; come 
along and I’ll introduce you; I’ve got the 
next number with her.” 

“No, thanks, old chap. I don’t believe I 
will; you see I’m so far behind the said band- 
wagon that I hardly can hear the music. No, 
I’ll keep my downy wings unsinged, Pem- 
broke, and flutter round among my equals.” 

“Well, perhaps you’re right, Martin; she 
might take a shine to you and then there’d 
be the deuce to pay — there always is with 
her somehow.” 

“As I should imagine — and you?” 

“Oh, I, well I’m supposed to be old and 
cynical and callous. She calls me Uncle 
and I grin and pretend I like it. Well, ta-ta, 
243 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

there goes the music! I must not keep her 
waiting.” 

Martin Grant looked after his friend and 
watched him pick his way through a crowd 
of men and later emerge with the lady of 
their discourse at his side. He stood back 
in a friendly doorway and watched the girl 
as she swung gracefully past to the soft 
Chopin waltz. He eyed her critically, tried 
to find some flaw in her but she seemed 
perfect; the embodiment of every physical 
attribute that he idealized in woman; but he 
smiled as he thought — “Well, this is only a 
calf affair anyway and when the time comes 
I’ll probably love and marry a blonde girl 
with rosy cheeks and a celestial nose, and 
yet .” 

And then the boy flushed and started awk- 
wardly, for the couple had swept close past 
him again. He saw Pembroke give the girl 
an almost imperceptible pressure with his 
gloved hand and she turned her head and 
looked straight into the Boy’s eyes. 

And what the Boy thought was, “No, I 
don’t believe I’ll marry a blonde, after all,” 
And what the Girl said was — “Was it that 
handsome boy standing in the doorway?” 

244 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


And Pembroke answered “Yes, that’s he.” 

“Well, of course it was very candid of him. 
What a pity young men so often lack the 
tact of you more advanced ones, Major!” 
And with this Parthian shot Miss Lawrence 
left the Major to ponder over what particular 
offence had called down the sarcasm on his 
devoted head. 

Now the rule was that Miss Lawrence 
should pick and choose whom she would or 
would not know and she kept her circle of rec- 
ognized admirers sufficiently select to satisfy 
her somewhat fastidious taste, and it was 
fastidious if capricious. Among her can- 
celled engagements were none to which she 
could not look back with a certain dreamy 
sadness that was akin to pleasure. There 
was Prince Ambrose; he was at her side to- 
night, a trifle aged and worn-looking, per- 
haps, but as gentle and courteous as ever. 
And Masters and Saltern of the Navy, and 
Paul Danton, the writer, and — oh, a score of 
others. A couple of them had broken rough- 
ly, to be sure — squirmed at their medicine — 
but they had been the ones who easily had 
consoled themselves. As for the rest — well, 
they were scattered to the ends of the earth 
245 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

and they were men too loyal to speak, what- 
ever they thought. 

The trouble was that the girl was just as 
honest as the men while the glamour was 
over her; it lasted usually from three to six 
days after the particular object of her interest 
had descended from his pedestal and begun 
to grovel; and then, though her whole nature 
and line of action had demanded submission, 
it brought her quick disenchantment. Of 
course, she was spoken of as the most cal- 
lous of finished coquettes and yet there were 
few men in her class who would not have 
eagerly welcomed the opportunity of singeing 
their wings at her shrine. 

At this particular time she was considering 
the attentions of a young diplomat who, 
warned by the fate of his predecessors, was 
hedging his way into her good graces in a 
manner worthy of his profession. He was a 
brilliant, cultivated gentleman, refined and 
scholarly, and withal strong enough to com- 
mand even Miss Lawrence’s interest; and yet 
she suddenly broke with him, apparently 
for the sole purpose of being able to give 
her undivided attention to the Boy’s busi- 
ness. 


246 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

Even to this day it is quite inexplicable 
to me what such a girl could see in the 
Boy; he was just a wholesome, handsome 
young fellow of the usual British type. I 
think he’d been at Cambridge but I’m not 
sure, and he had her Majesty’s commission 
to wear a sword. Of course the average 
school-girl would have thought him a dar- 
ling and a hero but Cecil Lawrence was a 
cut above the average school-girl and knew 
a thing or two about Art and Literature that 
had been altogether left out of the Boy’s 
education. 

He was on a three months vacation before 
going out to India and had intended spend- 
ing the time at his father’s quiet little vicar- 
age down in Hants; but when she took his 
affairs in hand she changed all that — not of a 
set purpose, mind; for I think at that stage 
she’d have been foolish enough to go down 
to Hants with him — but because she was so 
wrapped up in the boy himself that all his 
surroundings were lost sight of. She asked 
him once why he had avoided her so persist- 
ently — this was long after the avoidance had 
ceased — and he told her that he realized the 
first time he saw her that he might love her 
247 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


so strongly that he was afraid; as he could 
not possibly hope that she herself would 
care. 

Of course, it was all utterly foolish. She 
hadn’t a penny of her own and it was 
necessary for her to make a good match; 
yet the Boy’s love-making carried her com- 
pletely away for the time. You hardly can 
wonder at it, after all; he was so utterly 
single of purpose in his devotion; but he 
said and did things that no man should say 
or do to any living woman. 

1 And she — well, she gave him her lips and 
let him touch her hair and called him her 
Boy, and mind you, I believe she meant it 
too. And one night the ribbon of her slip- 
per came loose and when she let him fas- 
ten it, he kissed it with the same perfection 
of devotion that he always showed her, and 
when the time came for their parting she 
gave him the slipper in memory of the kiss. 

He was stationed at Colaba for the time 
and from there the girl began to get those 
foolish letters that lonely men will write, 
and they opened her eyes and made her 
think and later, write. 

That letter showed the truth; for it an- 
248 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

nounced her engagement to Major Lang- 
ham. 

Now I had come out with the same de- 
tachment as Grant ; we had foregathered 
over our pipes on the boat, and later, be- 
ing both stationed at Colaba, waiting orders, 
he in cantonment and I at the hospital, 
we still held together. I think it comforted 
him a bit to sit and smoke with a man 
who had known Her, although we never 
mentioned her name. We would talk all 
round her — of an evening spent perhaps 
where she had been, speaking of others 
freely, but always balking, somehow, at her. 
Then again, although I was sure he had at 
least one picture of her, it was never on 
exhibition ; his father’s and sister’s stood on 
his dressing case, but I think he kept hers 
in a secret place along with his Bible that 
he was still old-fashioned enough to read 
every day. 

Then that cursed letter came. The mail 
was delivered at the Orderly Room and 
from there Grant’s bearer brought it to his 
quarters. How the Boy’s face brightened 
as he saw the handwriting ! I looked in 
his eyes for an instant and mine must have 
249 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


smiled my sympathy, for his smiled back. 

“ I’ll go, Martin.” 

“ Not much you don’t, old chap ! Excuse 
me just a moment and I’ll be right back.” 
And with his sunny, boyish smile he lifted 
the dividing bamboo cheeks and disappeared 
into his bedroom. 

I lay back smoking, pulling the terrier’s 
ears and trying to recollect how it felt to be 
so utterly young as the Boy. I remembered 
that I had been once and I let my thoughts 
drift back to the old broken ideals until the 
glamor of the past closed in over me and I 
forgot my pipe and the dog and even the 
happy Boy in the room beyond. And then 
something waked me and I sat bolt upright 
with, a start ; for it sounded for all the world 
like a smothered sob. It came again ; dry, 
hoarse, almost choking and still with that 
smothered feeling about it; and then I could 
stand it no longer. 

I crossed to the cheeks : 

“ Martin !” 

No answer. I spoke again, then raised the 
bamboos and entered. He was lying face 
down on his cot with his head buried deep 
in the pillows, and at regular intervals came 
250 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

that hard, dry sob. I knelt by him and laid 
my head on his pillow with my arm round 
his shoulders. He gripped my hand hard 
once and slowly the sobs grew farther apart, 
but the twilight closed into night and we 
spoke no words. 

It must have been ten o’clock when he sat 
up and spoke to me through the darkness. 

“Thank you, Jack; it’s over now; forget it 
with me, old man, won’t you?” 

I didn’t hear of her engagement to Lang- 
ham for nearly a month afterward and then 
I wondered what the Boy would do if he 
met the Major who was coming out to settle 
up some diplomatic frontier business before 
he left the service and settled down to a well 
earned rest at home. He had the repu- 
tation of being a clever diplomat and border 
organizer, as well as a gallant soldier; and 
there was a K. C. B. in the background await- 
ing the successful issue of the present com- 
plication. 

Meantime the Boy went quietly on his way 
with never a whimper after that first night, 
but I knew that he was laying lines at head- 
quarters for a transfer up to the great North- 
western frontier — the only place in India 
251 


THE LOVE OE WOMAN. 


where there was the continual promise of 
active service. 

This frontier is policed by some forty 
thousand horse and foot — mostly Goorkhas, 
Sikhs, Punjabis and English — all picked men 
and trained to the minute. These men are 
constantly on the move from one desolate 
mud fort to another, lugging their mule bat- 
teries after them. They are under the sup- 
ervision of a dozen political agents who are 
present at most of the hangings and village- 
burnings to represent British Law. 

The life of these soldiers is probably the 
grimmest and hardest of any in the service 
and proportionately the least well-paid, as 
their frontier work, however brilliant, is ig- 
nored, if not smothered, on account of the 
delicate feelings of the British taxpayer, who, 
somehow, always gets the idea that the worst 
kind of Border Rushers, blood-thirsty cut- 
throats with a score of murders to their dis- 
credit, are saintly patriots leading a popular 
cause against a big, bullying Power. 

Now these border chiefs have a pretty 
good idea just how the land lies and exactly 
how much they can twist the Lion’s tail be- 
fore he’ll bite; his growl they have long since 
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THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

learned to despise; and this same Lion has 
learned to stand an awful lot up on the bor- 
der. The chiefs are rude, and any respect- 
able murderer with a little tactful display, can 
get up a very pretty revolt. They rush a 
police station and, if they have good luck, 
kill an English officer and then bombard one 
of the mud forts in the middle of the night 
when our folks are getting their beauty sleep. 
We send a polite message asking them to re- 
frain till after breakfast, which they answer 
with their customary rudeness and then re- 
tire to some impregnable fastness among the 
rocks and raise a torn cotton rag on a stick 
and call themselves a successful rebellion. 
Their runners also announce a big victory 
(represented by the firing on the fort at night 
during which one water-bullock was killed 
and an earthen chattie wounded) over the 
British. 

During the next month a whole lot of nasty 
little clans gather round the rag on the stick 
and insist that they are having a war with En- 
gland. The Indian Government humors them 
awhile, because of the absurd taxpayer at 
home; but at last the chief (probably some 
half-crazy Mullah), cuts down a Government 
253 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

mail-runner and then there’s a sudden 
massing of men and guns on a moonless 
night, a long ride that’s as silent as death, 
over the border, and next morning at dawn, 
to the Mullah’s utter disgust and consterna- 
tion he finds his position surrounded. 

If he’s wise he comes down and surrend- 
ers, is made much of and is pensioned; (for 
the edification of the home papers) but if his 
gray matter happens to have a few extra 
specks on'it he fights like the black devil he 
is and before you know it, a troublesome 
war is on and at the slightest British reverse 
the whole border flames up, and ten thous- 
and hairy hillsmen rush for their hidden 
guns and sweep down on the valley, bent on 
fire, rapine and murder. 

This was about the kind of thing that 
Grant and I got into when our wire-pulling 
brought us the change we wanted. He had 
charge of a little mud affair known as Fort 
McPherson, while I was commissioned to 
ride up and down a certain border district 
day and night, dispensing quinine and calo- 
mel ad lib. 

Just why Mullah Fez Khan chose to harass 
this one little apology for a fort during his 
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THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

raids, is still an open question. We were 
the most peaceable crowd on the line, this 
particular Paythan was absolutely unknown 
to us, yet night after night he persisted in 
bombarding us with rifle shot from an ad- 
jacent hill. He didn’t do any real damage, 
only the constant “phut! phut! phut!” of the 
bullets on the roof and walls, with an oc- 
casional one in the steward’s mess-room, 
kept us guessing as to whether it was just a 
bluff or we really were going to be rushed. 
Of course, he was snuggled away in his den 
by dawn and, officially, the beast hadn’t been 
near us at all. 

Naturally, we were just boiling over to get 
out and have a go at the old villain but 
orders were too emphatic; not a cartridge 
must be exploded before Major Langham 
got back. The diplomatic relations with 
Khandahar were strained and involved and 
it was well known that a single pistol shot 
might be the first of an expensive military 
expedition which would be a fine occasion 
for the home papers to rail against the op- 
position’s “Bloody policy of Annexation.” So 
we lay close and waited for our turn. But 
Fez Khan thought we were afraid and so he 

2 55 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

rushed us one dark night, under cover of 
his rifles from the hill. 

The devils were over the mud wall and 
into the court among the night guard before 
we were fairly awake and then as stubborn 
a bit of fighting as I ever saw came off. The 
Boy was in the thick of it, dressed in the 
lower half of his pajamas and slippers. Of 
course every knife of the whole cut-throat 
crew was aimed at his gleaming white chest, 
but the little Goorkhas banked round him in 
a solid mass and drove their short swords 
home with such fearful skill and joy that Fez 
himself ordered the retreat, which they af- 
fected through the gate we had considerately 
opened for the purpose. 

Just as the last rush went through, the Boy 
sprang clear of his faithful Goorkhas and 
broke for the gate. It might have been the 
lust of battle, but I doubt it; anyway, I’d been 
watching him and jumped foi him on the 
instant, yelling for the men to follow. 

A dozen Afghans turned as the Boy sprang 
out; one went down with a badly spoiled 
face and then there was another nasty mix-up; 
but w T e got him back in and shut the gate. 

Three nights later, five stations were at- 
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THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

tacked simultaneously and the standard of 
revolt was up. 

Orders reached us on the fifth day; and that 
night the Boy and I, with fifty Goorkhas, sil- 
ently made our way across the border. 

Of course, I had no earthly business mix- 
ing up in the mess at all; no one had any use 
for thermometers or quinine over the 
border. Sickness was too sudden and short; 
the flare of a gun, the flash of a knife, then a 
moment of blinding darkness as the soul let 
go, and nothing was left but — vengeance! 

But I’d taken to the Boy and got to love 
him like a younger brother. I was a lonely 
man and he seemed to have filled an empty 
corner in my heart that long had been given 
over to ghosts; for once on a time I, too, had 
had a letter from home that had changed my 
life and made me come to prize a blooded 
horse and a man’s honor beyond all else — 
even the love of woman or God. 

But it takes time to get hardened, and 
meanwhile — I’d made up my mind to see the 
lad through, so I tramped by his side that 
night. 

It was a weird night march and as silent as 
caution could make it. Four lithe little 
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THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

Goorkhas crept ahead, feeling the way with 
naked knives as they followed the click of 
their military compasses and on either side 
and behind we had flung out our guards, 
while the rest of us trod cautiously with 
muffled accoutrements. Shortly after mid- 
night our left flank touched another silent 
company and an an hour later we heard the 
grind and clink of a mule-battery, with now 
and again a whip-crack and a hoarse curse 
from the drivers; and then a man dashed 
across our company with a rough oath, to 
try and quiet the noisy battery. 

"Langham Sahib!” volunteered one of the 
little men at my side, and I glanced uneasily 
at Martin, but his head was down and I doubt 
if he heard. 

Well, I suppose it was that damned noisy 
mule-battery that did the business; at any 
rate, it began to slip and pound on the rocks 
as we went up the hill, in a manner that 
made our blood run cold. Fez had his flag 
up in a perfect natural rock fort, the only ap- 
proach to which was naked ground com- 
posed of slippery rocks that sloped gradually 
up to a narrow gorge. Once this gorge was 
reached the way was fairly protected, save 
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THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

for a couple of hundred yards of broken 
ground at the other end. 

Our hope was to carry the gorge with a 
rush in the early dawn, before the Mullah 
got wind' of us and then shell his little fort 
till he got tired of the fun. But at the last 
moment one of the guns got stuck (they 
always do) and that finished our last chance. 

It’s difficult to tell whether the enemy’s 
move was just a hurried fluke, or a well- 
planned ambush; of course, the result had 
to be the same in the long run, the rag on 
the stick was bound to come down and the 
Mullah’s head with it. But oh! the way of it! 
The way of it was exceeding bitter! 

The sky was lighting in soft grays and 
greens as we broke from cover at the foot of 
that mile slope that led to the fort. Langham 
looked long and anxiously through his glasses 
then gave an angry snort. The hill-top was 
alive with men but, strange to say, the gorge 
was empty. There was a moment’s halt, 
then a bugle rang out, and away we went on 
a long, swinging trot. 

Perhaps we’d gone two hundred yards — 
certainly not more — just enough to get the 
whole force clear of cover, when there came 
259 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


a single rifle-shot, sharp and clean on the 
morning air; then, before we had fairly real- 
ized it, a murderous fire swept our flank. 

The men halted, wavered a moment as the 
rocks echoed to the patter of naked, rushing 
feet; then they swung into squares. That 
was the trouble. If we’d only had time for 
one formation the thing never would have 
happened; but there was no time and we 
squared as we ran, in squads and companies. 
Then when the wave swept over and broke 
us, we hacked and chopped our way to the 
next nearest square. 

God! what a morning that was! No noise, 
mind you, except the terrible “Deen! Deen!” 
of the hillsmen as they rushed down to the 
fight; just the heavy, savage breathing and 
the crunch of boots on the stones, with now 
and again a brutal laugh as Private Atkins 
showed some Paythan giant “a way we have 
in the army,” or a Goorkha’s treble yell as 
he did some equally nasty thing. 

And the battery — well, the battery was safe 
in the middle of a big square, the crush out- 
side being too dense to give it any show. 

I stuck to the Boy during the first two 
rounds, then we broke badly and it was a 
260 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

hand to hand hacking match for ten minutes. 
I had all I could do to stand off the brute 
who singled me out as his special business. 
My sword had broken at the hilt in the first 
rush; still the hilt makes a very serviceable 
knuckle-duster, as you’ll find if ever you 
have occasion to use it. But the more I 
slammed the chap’s head, the more fiercely 
he came back at me; and I believe he’d have 
got me in the end, for I was deadly tired, but 
one of the Sikh gunners with a knife tied on 
to his cleaning rod, reached over and prod- 
ded him through the throat. ’Twasn’t fair, I 
know, and his eyes protested to mine as he 
went down. Still, he wasn’t the only brave 
man that fell under unfair odds that morn- 
ing, and I was glad enough to crawl between 
the sturdy brown legs and roll into the square. 
It took us over two hours to get back to 
cover and shake the devils off and then I 
looked for the Boy, but looked in vain. At 
last I found his orderly, gesticulating wildly 
to a lot of Sikhs, upbraiding them and point- 
ing to the hills. As he spoke, the Adjutant 
rushed up: 

"Doctor, where’s the Major?” 

And before I could answer, the Goorkha 
261 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


saluted and spoke: 

“In the nullah, Sahib." 

“Good God! Alone?” 

“No Sahib, Lieutenant Grant Sahib follow- 
ed him and some Punjabis; but Sahib, Pun- 
jabis are no good and these dogs” (with a 
gesture of superb contempt at the Sikhs), 
“won’t go.” 

“How was it? Quick!” 

“They broke the Major Sahib’s square — 
may their souls rot for a thousand years in 
hell — and shut him off so he couldn’t get in; 
and he backed away to the nullah with the 
crowd all on top of him. Then Grant Sahib — 
he was with us — he makes a sudden run and 
breaks out and up the hill. Sahib, we follow 
him but the children of Hell rush us again 
and bear us back and only ten get through — 
and now these dogs, these Punjabis .” 

“Bugler, quick! ‘Battery advance’! Com- 
pany B Goorkhas to the front! Skirmishers 
out, quick, Douglas! Reserves at a hundred 
yards. Now boys” (to the 14th Limerick), 
“ you hear what’s there; dust up the hill and 
fetch ’em out! Steady! Bayonets! By y’r 
right — quick march! Double! Charge!” 

Did you ever see a big crowd of men 
262 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

dominated by one idea and united as to the 
method of execution? If you have, you’ve 
seen one of the most potent forces in the 
universe. 

The Goorkhas and the Irish led away, each 
striving to outdo the other, while the Pun- k 
jab rifles covered the advance; the battery 
meantime playing havoc with the Paythan 
rushes. We cleared the last hundred yards 
at a hard run, the rocks resounding with 
wild Irish yells. The hillsmen, who had been 
trying to force the nullah, broke like wind- 
driven reeds before the furious dash; and, 
with hardly the loss of a man, we gained the 
sheltering rocks. 

As the Adjutant pressed through the gap 
I was at his shoulder and heard the faint cry 
of welcome. Three men started out to meet 
us — three gallant heroes — Punjabis at that; 
but the men we had come to save — well, we 
were a little late, that’s all. 

They were lying in the basin of the nullah 
that they had held so bravely; the boy with 
his arms flung across the Major’s chest, as 
though he would protect him even in death. 

The men crowded in and stood looking at 
the little group of dead, and the Irish hel- 
263 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 


mets came off while the big dare-devils 
choked and coughed and slunk away. The 
Goorkhas knelt and kissed their brethren, and 
one touched the boy’s torn coat with rever- 
ent lips. Then they, too, went out, and 
made obeisance to the Punjabis, calling them 
“ Brothers.” 

As I lifted the boy his coat came loose, 
and under his singlet I found a scarlet slipper. 
I drew it away to use the stethoscope. The 
little French heel had bruised the firm, young 
flesh, but the heart lay quite still. 

As I knelt beside him, I tried to argue that 
it was all foolishness — waste; that the woman 
was utterly unworthy, that neither she nor 
the man would ever know, yet deep in my 
heart another voice was speaking, and it told 
me that the thing was grand — immeasurably 
beyond my little callous philosophy. 

While I still knelt a burly Irish Sergeant 
saluted the Adjutant: 

“ Excuse me, sor, but if yez doan’t want 
thim Irish divils outside to go clane stark 
crazy yez’ll give th’ order ter close this inci- 
dent.” And, with eyes that were suspiciously 
bright, he gave a deprecating wave of his 
hand toward the silent group. 

264 


THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 

The Adjutant gave the order, and that night 
the incident was closed. 


THE END. 

























* 
























































& jt&Uj 



JUN 17 1901 




















































































